


Every little thing (he does is magic)

by viajeramyra



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Romantic Comedy, Boss/Employee Relationship, Folk Music, Food, In-Flight Entertainment, Indie Music, Inspiration, Light Angst, Light Smut, M/M, Muses, Musicians, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Your empire for one man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-01-15 07:16:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 146,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21249530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viajeramyra/pseuds/viajeramyra
Summary: The one-night performance at the weekend open mic was simply an opportunity to play his music after far too long a break. He didn't expect talent agent Sergio Marquina to be in the audience or a potential record contract after the show.He certainly never anticipated his first meeting at the label would lead to him discovering a new muse--the CEO himself, Andrés de Fonollosa.Berlermo musician/producer AU.





	1. Behind Blue Eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jetske & Berlermo gc](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Jetske+%26+Berlermo+gc), [Cacilie_Blaas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cacilie_Blaas/gifts).

The minutes rolled by, each more slowly than the next. The tick of his watch rang in his ears, left hand running the thin comb through his damp hair, trying to freeze time getting ready just as much as he could. He supposed if he really wanted to keep himself from being able to get ready, he wouldn’t have laid his clothes out the moment he got home from work. It would have bought him an additional thirty minutes, and by then, perhaps his girlfriend would have changed her mind. From the other room, he could hear the soft beats of music coming out of a speaker, while the sound of heels clicked on the wooden floors. He knew he was running out of time before Raquel would come knocking on the door to see if he was ready to go, and he dreaded it as every second brought it closer.

He knew all of this had been planned for so long, but it didn’t stop the thumping in his head. Work was usually best left at the office, but it didn’t matter on this particular Friday night. It would follow him on his weekend off, and he hated it. There wasn’t much that could be done about that now, though; not when he heard the gentle knock on the bathroom door, commanding his attention. “Sergio,” Raquel’s voice called from the other side of the door. “We only have a few more minutes before Ágata is going to be here, are you ready yet?”  
  
Sergio rolled his head back, a small groan trapped against his lips. If not for making Raquel happy, he would chose to do just about anything else with the start of their long weekend. It wasn’t even as if he could argue for this just being a late night of work. The trash bar they were headed to would likely have dark lighting, with far too loud, poorly tuned, unpleasant songs played by unskilled musicians. The extra layers of sticky dirt and dust on the tables, chairs, and walls posed a threat to whatever suit he chose, and he'd never hear the end of that either. At least when he had to go out to scout new talent, he frequented nicer places where the food was decent and the music didn’t leave him mostly deaf for hours afterwards. 

“Raquel,” he called back, opening the door to her. He had to take a moment to catch his breath as he looked at her, eyes wide. Raquel was dressed in a tight, black lace dress with thin red heels giving her an inch on him without his shoes on. She smirked at him as he blinked, at a loss for words as she leaned against the door and waited for him to find his voice again. Even years into dating, this wonderful woman never failed to have the same lasting effect on him. Certainly, there were other things that could be done with an evening where she looked like that.   
  
When he found his voice again, he asked “Are you sure we can’t stay in this evening?” The words came out all too quickly, too eager. The pale blush on her face was nothing compared to the one he felt heating his cheeks, unable to probe the desire to stay in and find a new form of entertainment. 

She tilted her head, and brought her hand to gently rest on his face. She smiled at him teasingly as she ran her thumb over the heavy bags under his eyes. “You look so tired, Sergio, and we haven’t even had a chance to get to any fun this evening.” 

“I’d rather not have to listen to, _eh_, the type of music they’re going to be playing at this bar,” he responded, rubbing the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses back up as he did. “That is — I don’t mean to discourage local artists but, you know this is just like picking up extra office hours and not actually being paid for them.” 

Raquel laughed, as she took a step closer to him and picked up the thin silk grey tie off the hanger as she gently wrapped it around his neck and used it to pull him closer. “It’s good for couples to have a social life, Sergio,” she smiled, her voice gently teasing as her eyes locked with his. Flustered, he looked back down, before he bit his tongue, distracted once more by the outfit she had picked for the evening. 

He took a deep breath as he tried to focus once more. “Raquel I only meant that—”  
  
She gently kissed him, letting out a small laugh as she pulled away. “Yes, I _ know _that brother of yours has been working you like a dog, but we did make an obligation Sergio, and,” she paused for a moment, as she finished with the tie, “I will make it up to you later.” She took a step back to see how he looked with everything put together. The dark blue button-up meshed very well with the grey of his tie, which would be even better if he would stop shifting awkwardly from side to side. She reached for his hand and gave him a reassuring squeeze. 

“He doesn’t mean to have so much work for me, things have been rather intense for the last year trying to recover from everything that happened,” he replied, quick to defend his brother. Good intentions were never Andrés’ strong suit, Sergio knew, but the extra workload had cancelled more than the occasional plan from time to time. Raquel had stormed into the office to ensure that a weekend off was in the plans, and there was no sense in arguing with Raquel — years of police work and negotiations left her far more skilled than most opponents. Besides, Sergio knew the guilt his brother kept bottled up, threatening to spill over at any moment. He never wanted to be weak around them, never wanted his life to break him to the point of dependency. Things were finally getting back to normal, which meant he didn't need to rely so heavily on either of them. 

Raquel flashed him a look, one of her eyebrows raised and her lips tightly pursed at his quick defense of his brother. He bit down on his bottom lip with his top teeth to stop it from going any further. “I said I would make it up to you later, Sergio,” she emphasized, “do you really want to focus on the part where I insulted your brother?”  
  
“Perhaps not,” he replied quickly. He grinned, as he gently wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled them to sit together on the plush grey sofa. The lighting in the room was bright enough to keep him wide awake, even with how tired he was. Raquel rested her head against the crook of his neck, and he could’ve stayed happily frozen in that moment forever, if it wasn’t for the quick, loud knocking at the door. 

“RAQUEL! EL PROFESOR!” A loud shout, followed by an equally loud giggle, radiated from their front porch. Sergio groaned, as his body went tense at the nickname. The costume was the only one readily available when Ágata insisted he accompany her to a Halloween party in Los Angeles, and his protests had fallen on deaf ears. Every time he heard it, he wished he’d never accompanied her to the States during her contract transfer. Now, he was forever plagued with the annoying nickname. Raquel smiled up at Sergio before she got off the sofa, and walked the short distance to the door. 

As Ágata all but fell through their front door, the salty smell of cheap vodka filled their front room. Raquel caught her friend in her arms, keeping the already tipsy woman from falling over. The wine red camisole, tight leather miniskirt, and the way her hair was pulled with a cream knot top headband, and the giant heart shaped sunglasses covering her eyes were enough to tell him how extremely overdressed he was for the occasion. He debated if that would be a good enough excuse to prolong the inevitable evening out, and glanced at the large grandfather clock in the room. Perhaps if he timed it perfectly, they would miss the event altogether. He rose from the sofa, as he quickly tried to turn to head back to the bedroom. 

His movements weren’t quick enough, as Ágata rushed over from affectionately greeting Raquel to fling herself into Sergio’s arms, holding his face in her hands as she sloppily kissed his cheeks. He propped her up in the embrace to keep her from tilting backwards wondering just how she had managed to walk over in the blink of an eye, when she could hardly stand up in her state now. Raquel told him time and time again that Ágata was one of their best detectives in the field, but in these moments he found that quite impossible to believe. He glanced over Ágata’s shoulder, looking desperately to Raquel for help. She pulled Ágata out of the embrace, smiling at her friend. 

“You look dapper,” Ágata said, flashing her teeth in a wide smiling at Sergio. “Didn’t Raquel tell you we were going to a club and not one of your posh venues?”  
  
His cheeks flushed red as he reached for the dark blazer draped on the back of the nearby armchair. “Yes, of course,” he replied. “I was just thinking it might be a good idea if I spent some time putting together a different ensemble, I would hate to be out of place and take any attention away from those on stage.” 

Raquel quickly grabbed for his arm with her free one, Ágata securely attached to the other. “Sergio, you’re fine, there won’t be enough light in there for you to be noticed,” she said firmly. “We don’t have time to wait on you to change your mind on what to wear,” she finished, as she walked them both to the door. Leaning closer to him, she added with a whisper, “But _ I _will have something distracting to look at all night,” she finished with a little wink left him even more flustered. 

———————

The smell of cheap alcohol filled his nose the moment they got within ten feet of the little wooden door. He looked at Raquel sourly as he pinched his nose, eyes watered from the overwhelming smell. She rolled her eyes at him, silently dismissing his dramatics. He didn't need her to speak the thought in her head, acutely aware she'd point out how his behavior currently mirrored his brother. It had clearly been far too long since he had been in such a dump, as if this wasn’t where he and Andrés used to go to scout out talent before the business really started to take off. They had to start somewhere, and crummy little bars on corners with weekly open mics was the best place they could’ve opted for, the only place they could have _ afforded _ to start building a music empire He didn’t miss those times for a number of reasons, even if they had managed to find some really good performers.  
  
The smell had settled in the bar and probably been there for years. It took Sergio several minutes to become acclimated to it enough for it to stop burning his eyes. Raquel seemed much better at ignoring it than he did, as she listened intently to whatever Ágata was speaking so animatedly about. He wasn’t sure he would’ve wanted to hear what she was saying anyway; plus, with all of the noise in the room coming from the speakers, he would’ve had to lean his entire body weight over the unstable, dusty circular table to hear anything that was going on. That would’ve only ended with him on the floor on top of a broken table, and he wasn’t about to embarrass himself in front of Raquel tonight. He had a lifetime of tripping over things in front of her already. He glanced around the bar, taking in the mix of mostly young adults who gathered at the main bar, huddled together with cheap drinks all across their tables. There were maybe fifty people in the room that could’ve comfortably held twice that — but they all stood huddled closely together, threatening to morph into one. 

The emptiness of the venue was a testament to the type of performers he was about to be exposed to for the evening. Usually, the types of places he had started to scout had lines out the door, people trying to bribe or beg their way in to see the performances. There wasn’t any space to turn your head without knocking into someone, people mindful not to bump a table and send drinks to the floor. Others were higher scale, a waiting list or secret passwords granting access to a chosen view. Either way, he was at least grateful it did get tiring trying to breath in such a tight space; at least here, he could walk around when aimlessly sitting listening to bad music got too much. He also didn't have to pretend to fit in with the chosen group Andrés sent out with him. 

His fingers pressed against his years in attempt to block out the out of tune guitar of the first act as they started their set. Unsuccessful, he began thinking of other distraction tactics. He slipped his hand into his jacket pocket, pulling out the thin phone to sort through his emails. Unsurprisingly, there were already seventeen from Andrés’ secretary, and another five from Andrés personally. His finger scrolled down to the bottom, opening the first that had arrived that evening. Even though he had been more than entitled to an evening off, and Andrés had agreed to Raquel’s request, it was beyond hope that he would actually make it through the entire weekend without anything to do at all. He continued to read on, his eyes glued to the screen and only caught a small glimpse of the lead singer almost tripping off the stage in a drunk twirl. His head shot up from the phone, concerned about the woman’s safety as he instinctively stood to go and help her. Raquel gently placed her hand on his wrist, another finger extending to point as the artist laughed and bowed after she caught herself to keep from falling off. He settled back into his seat, immediately looking back at his phone only to have it swiped from his hands.

He looked between the phone, now securely in Raquel’s closed hand, and the disapproving frown on her face. He nodded, as he pulled his hands back onto his lap to signal his defeat. His brother would have to wait until later this evening or the early hours of the morning, it was only fair to his girlfriend. She smiled as she tucked the phone into her small clutch, and kept it at her side once more.

Raquel wrapped his arm around her shoulders, as she leaned back against him. He smiled down at her, his focus back on trying to find a way to enjoy the evening. At least the emails only contained a few documents he needed to read, a couple he needed to sign, and it wouldn’t take that long to complete them. Andrés probably wouldn’t see it that way, anything he sent he generally felt needed to be met with a sense of urgency, but he would have to make do without him for a few hours. But Sergio couldn't continue to be at his every call now his health had improved, anyway. Boundaries needed to be established again, if his brother truly wanted to forget about the last year. 

“It’s not so bad, is it?” She whispered in his ear with a giggle, as they watched the singer mumble over performing some of the words. She continued on once she found her place once again as if nothing had gone wrong, and no one else in the bar seemed to notice.  
  
Sergio chuckled, lightly. “Like very, very bad karaoke.” 

She leaned further back against his chest, her smile bright with a bit stronger laugh at his reply. “Well, not everyone can live up to your standards.”  
  
“Or anyone’s standards, for that matter. The drinks must be incredibly cheap in here for anyone to come in and actually listen to this.” 

Raquel rolled her eyes, but planted a soft kiss on his cheek. They both looked over at Ágata, who had joined another table a few yards away, and had her arms draped over one of the men, a beanie pulled down over his forehead and arms crossed over his chest. He too seemed a little out of place for the venue, if the wrinkles on his face were any testament of his age. But their laughter was so hysterical they could hear little hints of it from their table over the beating of the drums on stage; it was enough to make him reconsider his judgment. “Maybe it’s time for us to have a few drinks so we can enjoy this a little more,” Raquel said, a hint of optimism in her voice as if being intoxicated would stand a chance at being enough. 

“I doubt we could go so far back into our youth, Raquel—”  
  
“And now you’re calling me an old woman?” She turned to face him, hands squared on her hips as she gave him a playful glare. “I’m not the one incapable of letting loose, Sergio,” she further teased with a smirk spread across her face.  
  
“No, no,” Sergio quickly replied, as he raised his hands innocently in the air. “I would never, I didn’t mean to say that you are old Raquel. Simply, more refined than some of the other attendees this evening.” She shook her head at him as he stood a step backwards towards the bar. “I’ll get you that drink.”  
  
The bartender had her nose buried in her phone, and didn’t look up to acknowledge him as he came up to the long, wooden counter. He waited for a moment, and shifted so he stood directly in front of her. Instead, her fingers continued to fly across the phone, long manicured fingernails tapping the screen as she typed. He cleared his throat, which only resulted in her glancing up from the device, scoffing as she rolled her eyes. 

Poor service was another thing he was no longer used to, as were the sticky substances he tried to avoid on the counter top while he handed over his money. He took a few mental notes of the poorly stocked shelves behind her as she worked on completely her order. The bottles of hard liquor looked half empty, while the remaining cans were things he had never heard of. He took notice of the mismatched decorations that were at the sides of the counter and on some of the shelves. Without his phone, he tasked himself to remember all the minute details by memory. At least then, he and Andrés would have a laugh about the old days once he told him how he spent the weekend. 

He heard an exuberant cheer from behind him followed by pounding on the table. Raquel's joyful cries pricked his ears, enough to make him look back at their table. She and Ágata currently had their fist thrown in the air, celebrating as the lighting changed onstage. He didn’t need to look at the stage to know that probably meant Ágata’s friends had just entered the stage to begin their performance, and he was glad he wasn’t at their table for the display. At least this meant he and Raquel could leave in the next half an hour, and get on with their evening, their obligations to her friend met. 

The bartender finished with his drinks, and slid the glasses to him without much attention. The liquid swished back and forth in the overly filled container, spilling across the counter and dripping down the side of the cup. He glanced up from the mess up to the bartender, who was already back to typing away on her phone. His shoulders dropped as he sighed and reached into his jacket pocket to pull out a small handkerchief to wipe the sides of the glasses before he picked them up in either hand. He inspected them carefully as he picked them up, making sure he didn’t miss anything on them. He wasn’t going to bring Raquel a dirty glass, and he certainly wasn’t going to drink from one.His shoulders relaxed, relieved when he finished inspecting them and found that they seemed to be the cleanest and newest thing about the bar. 

He heard a deep, stretched out chuckle come from the stage through the speakers, and turned to see the young looking man take a large swig from a personal sized bottle of tequila. He shuddered, knowing that this meant this performance would probably be worse than the one before it. But, as he reached the table he could tell Ágata and Raquel were talking excitedly about it, gesturing over at their friend as he the music started to play in the background. He swayed across the stage, twirling in circles that looked more like the result of forgetting how to walk. He heard the familiar notes of Smashmouth’s _Allstar_ and had to give the band credit for making that song even more intolerable than the original. 

“What do you think of Denver?” Raquel smiled, taking her drink from Sergio. He bit his tongue, eyes flickering from their friend, who was currently running his fingers through his dark curly hair, thumping the microphone with his other hand against his hip, and then back to his girlfriend. She giggled, rolling her eyes at his hesitance as Ágata spoke loudly across the table, “I think you should offer him a contract and bring him in to meet with your brother.

“Yes, I think that might finally be the line in the sand that makes Andrés yell at me,” he replied with a little laugh. 

“That might get you an extended vacation, and I have been wanting to go out to Palawan again. Those beaches were amazing, and as I remember, so was the hotel bed,” Raquel trailed off. His fingers tugged at his tie, smiling brightly while his cheeks flushed red. It had been a rather enjoyable vacation, and when work had tried to claim his attention, Raquel had thrown his phone into the sea. 

The songs blended together, the performance getting more exaggerated with every minute it went on. Finally, the singer informed the crowd that the last song would be in memory of his late father, and invited everyone to use the flashlights from their phones during the performance. Ágata came around the table to find her way in the middle of Sergio and Raquel, an arm draped over each of their shoulders. She swayed as the music started, and pulled each of them with her as she moved. 

Ricardo swayed on the stage as he started to sing, before he grabbed one of the female band members and started to dance with her in a small circle. He held her closely, almost in a hug, as he sang.

_ Por falta de tus labios _  
_ Lloré por primera vez _  
_ Y maldije conocerte _  
_ por no dejar de quererte _  
_ Yo mi esposa quise hacerte _  
_ sin amor busqué la suerte _  
_ Fuí tirando de pistola y el destino trajo muerte _

He mimicked a pistol with his fingers as he delivered the last line, taking a breath before he continued. Sergio glanced at Ágata, who seemed to try to be locking eyes with her friend in a sad smile to offer him some sort of encouragement. Sergio thought he saw the man nod in response, before he took a deep breath and continued the song.

_ Maria, mi vida, mi amor _  
_ no dejaré de quererte _  
_ a balazos te perdí ya no volverás a verme _  
  
Sergio noted that several of the other patrons in the bar had started to sing along with the past few lines. They sounded no better than the man on stage, but the chorus of drunk voices was enough to encourage him and Raquel to join in with the final two lines, even though they fumbled over the words, in time just behind everyone else.

_ Maria, mi vida, mi amor _  
_ no dejaré de quererte _  
  
Ágata took her arm from around Sergio so she could reach to wipe the few tears gently falling down her face. He guessed the song itself probably hadn’t brought up these emotions, but the loss of her friend’s father must have hit her hard. He was away when it had happened, but he vaguely remembered Raquel talking about how beautiful the service was. He gently squeezed her hand, and gave her the best look of comfort he could offer. She nodded slightly in response, as her lips tugged softly upwards into a little grin. She leaned in and kissed his cheek appreciatively.

The young man had stepped back and looked like he had a few tears shining in his eyes as well, even though he smiled brightly as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Ricardo took a few steps back, and wrapped his arms around the waist of his guitarist. He kissed her on the cheek, as she playfully swatted him away. The band waved to the crowd as the lights went black on stage. It made it easier to have a blackout while the band left and the next performer prepared to go on stage. Meanwhile, Ágata excused herself as she headed in the direction of the stage to speak with her friend. 

“Once Ágata gets back, we can say goodbye and go,” Raquel said, as she finished the last few sips of her drink. Sergio had barely touched his, still not quite trusting the amount of germs that lived on any of the surfaces in the bar. 

Sergio nodded as he waited patiently, but he debated doing the wait outside. The next performer had stepped onto the stage, wearing faded jeans and a simple red shirt, covered by an old black leather jacket. The look itself wasn’t so bad, until one took note of the grey striped scarf he wore around his neck. It certainly didn’t match the rest of the attire, and his mop of unruly brown hair looked even more like he had barely gotten out of bed in time for the performance. He did give him some points for at least carrying his guitar case carefully, as he mindfully kept it from getting anywhere near the ground. As he prepared, the announcer came over the speaker to introduce him. “We welcome to the stage, Martín Berrote.”  
  
Sergio watched as he set the case down on the ground with the upmost care, and delicately picked up the dark brown acoustic guitar from the case. One of the set managers had brought out a stool and set it down behind the microphone. The man finished his walk to center stage and settled on the bar stool. Unlike the other performs, he cradled his instrument as he twisted the tuners. He already displayed more skill than the previous performers, and it was enough for Sergio to decide he would rather wait inside the bar. He still didn’t expect much from the man, but at least he could probably call his performance _music._ The lights on the stage were tinted blue, and it was almost enough to mask his unappealing appearance. 

The first few notes were a little rough, but that often came with trying to find where you needed to be. Sergio watched as the performer bit his lip, and focused his energy intensely on getting everything just right. He flashed a smile to the crowd as he started again.

The next set of chords came out excellently, a relief to Sergio’s ears after so many subpar performers.

_ Above, below  
_ _Under a lonely star  
_ _Head to toe, hand in hand  
_ _It gets a whole lot better_

He felt the goosebumps on his arms as a little chill spread down his back. He locked eyes with Raquel, who smiled and nodded in silent agreement about the power of the man’s voice to relate so many deep emotions so quickly in the song. A pre-recorded soundtrack accompanied the guitar, and created a balanced melody that fit the song. Sergio started to consider whether he should ask Raquel for a moment of phone privileges back, depending on how the remainder of the song went. He sat up straight on his chair, eyes focused on the singer, hands neatly folded in front of him as he observed the performance with the discipline of a student who had just been scolded for bad behavior. 

_ Fire burning  
_ _Clean-cut flowers in the yard  
_ _Daylight turning  
_ _All the sleeping statues into girls  
_ _I feel nothing  
_ _Sleep is never coming  
_ _I hear laughter from afar  
_ _Must be the song of a lonely star_

The song intensified as it reached the end, as Martín delivered each one of the lyrics perfectly. He didn’t hold his guard as he performed, allowing the weight of each line to affect the audience’s emotions. The lyrics were like beautiful poetry, and by the time the song concluded, Sergio had already extended his hand out to Raquel expectantly, while Martín took a short pause to grab a drink from the bottle next to the bar stool.

“I thought you were in a hurry to get out of here?” She teased, as she looked between his extended hand and her small clutch.

He raised his eyebrow, more confident than he had been the rest of the evening. “I need my phone, Raquel. Andrés needs to hear this too, preferably as the next song starts.”

She smiled, but rolled her eyes as she handed the phone over. “Quickly, Sergio. I would hate for your brother to keep up from the rest of our evening,” she said, slowly giving him a light kiss. Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she stood and pointed in the direction of backstage. “I’ll be with Ágata and Ricardo when you finish.”

Sergio considered being distracted for a moment by the taunt, but quickly turned his eyes back to his phone as his fingers flew to Andrés’ contact. The ringer continued for far too long, only for him to be met with the sound of a woman laughing in the background. “Sergio? I hadn’t expected to hear from you, does Raquel know you’re hiding to call me?” The deep voice on the other end of the line mocked.

“Now isn’t the time, Andrés,” he scolded back, quickly changing the subject. “I have someone for you to listen to.”

He was met with silence, the woman whispering something that wasn’t audible to Sergio, but made Andrés mutter something back under his breath. Sergio coughed uncomfortably, waiting for Andrés to give him back his focus. He was met with an irritable, “Aren’t you at a dumpy bar?”

“Do you think I would call you if it wasn’t worth your time?” He said, his eyes narrowed as if it would make a difference through the phone. 

Andrés only chuckled. “Perhaps not,” he said playfully. Sergio heard him getting up, and took note of the sound of a door as it clicked shut. At least he now had his brother’s undivided attention.

He placed the phone down on the table, turning on the speaker option so he could hear when Andrés had decided he had heard enough to make a decision. Usually, Sergio could have recorded something and brought it in later, talked it over with Andrés and then went back to make a decision. But this, _ this _ time it was best to try and get their hands on him now, then give someone else the chance to discover him. The lights dimmed once more, this time presenting a mix of purple and blue light.

_ No one knows what it's like  
__To be the bad man  
__To be the sad man  
__Behind blue eyes  
__And no one knows what it's like  
__To be hated  
__To be faded to telling only lies _ _  
_

Each word of the new song hit like a rock against Sergio’s heart, as the words quickly related to everything he had watched Andrés go through in the last year. He wondered if they would sting as much for his brother, bring up any of the just barely resolved pain he had suffered through. Part of Sergio wanted to click end on the phone call, not wanting to put him through that pain if it wasn’t necessary, but he knew Andrés would be able to suppress anything he felt for the sake of his business. He relaxed his shoulders, letting the worry slide off of him.

_ But my dreams they aren't as empty  
_ _As my conscience seems to be  
_ _I have hours, only lonely_  
_My love is vengeance  
_ _That's never free_

The weight of the lyrics continued to plague Sergio’s mind, and he wondered if the performer had written them himself or if someone had done it for him. It would further secure his spot on the label if he was responsible for such powerful work, and Martín’s muse would prove to be quite irreplaceable in the company. His voice carried out each word and line with precision, well suited for the beat of the music. With two songs now fully performed, Sergio knew well enough to assume that he probably wasn’t riding off luck in his performance. There was potential here.

He picked up the phone from the table as the final chords ended. “Andrés,” he whispered in the phone, and waited for a moment for the response. He heard nothing coming out from the other end, and he wondered if he had gotten distracted or if the song had left him too vulnerable. Sergio almost had to hope for the first.

“Sergio,” Andrés finally replied, after far too long a pause. “I want him. Get me a head shot and see if he has any demos. I look forward to meeting with you to discuss this further.” _Click._

He was gone without another word, just as the third song started. Sergio placed his phone back down on the table, and hit the record button without thinking about it; trained to always be prepared in case a potential artist didn’t have any samples they could provide him with. His attention turned fully back to the stage, his mind switched like a light to business mode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this first little chapter. It wasn't supposed to really go anywhere, but thanks to the Berlermo gc's insistence and the hard work of my dear editor Jetske, I am about 10 chapters into writing this and have 26 or 27 planned. 
> 
> Songs in this chapter were: Mansion Door by Shakey Graves and Behind Blue Eyes by The Who.


	2. An Offer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all. Thank you for the kudos, they were greatly appreciated. I am sorry it took me so long to have time to post another chapter (not that I'm really sure how big my audience is anyway haha). Life has been rather crazy lately, but I do plan on keeping up with this fic and finishing it. Right now, I already have about 10 chapters written. So, if you like it please take the time to leave a kudo or a comment.

Thunderous applause filled the room as the final few notes drew to an end. Apart from Sergio, who busied himself typing away a detailed list of things to discuss with Martín after the performance, there wasn’t a single person left sitting in the audience. With his list finished, Sergio looked up to see the musician blow a kiss to the crowd. From the corner of his eye, he saw groups reaching across their table to catch it, knocking the unsteady furniture onto the ground; others cheered on as he sauntered back across the stage. Well deserved confidence bordered on arrogance as he flung the curtain behind him, disappearing from sight. It wouldn't be enough of a deterrence to make his brother forget wanting to meet with him, even if his own shoulders shrunk. Divas always made the job more difficult, but the man's age gave him hope it was only performative.   
  
Sergio's eyes glossed over the text he'd typed, committing most to memory as he reread his work. He pushed the chair back under the table, his eyes trained on the next part of his task. Every step between his table and the stage better prepared him for the conversation. It was as if he was playing a delicate game of chess, each move calculated ten steps before. He knew which pieces to play at exactly the right moments to ensure his victory, while keeping the other person on their toe, guessing. Years on the job ensured he never approached a new client with intimidation, while remaining poised to avoid being treated like a fool. The energy was electric between the two players: a determined agent and a talented musician; both were set up to leave satisfied with a pending relationship, if it was a good fit. He tried not to take more than he gave, but new artists had to earn esteem before they could become equals. The match wasn't always a good fit, some wanting more than they offered or the open mics proving a one night wonder. The games Sergio couldn’t win tended to be the ones not worth winning, anyway. They had standards to maintain and anyone not willing to consent to those standards were quickly discarded. 

He certainly hoped that wasn’t the case with Martín. The label's dry spell needed fresh talent, and he was their most promising prospect. 

As he walked to where Martín stood, talking to a few of the other performers and workers, he wondered how they had beat _ Free Spirit Enterprises _to discovering him. His style of music fit their competitors, and Tokio's new company was still young enough to tour dive bars. A stroke of luck when Sergio had wanted nothing more than to stay in. From the short distance, he watched as the singer tilted his head back in a deep laugh, which made everyone else join in. His bright, alluring smile was a charming sell, and even though he wasn’t conventionally attractive there was no denying that he was good looking. Apart from his style, there was very little that Andrés would feel the need to change if they ended up signing him. He stayed back, giving himself time to approach Martín when the crowd of groupies dispersed.  
  
Where other artists would've lost themselves to the swooning group of fans, Martín only spoke to a few of the stagehands. It spoke to his maturity, propelling Sergio's case. Even with all their best efforts, Martín continued his conversation with the smaller group. One girl shifted, as though she debated tapping him on the shoulder to grab his attention. But, Ricardo's return backstage took their attention away, happy to bask in the flirty group of women. Raquel and Ágata would be waiting for him back in the bar, so he started to navigate closer between the small sea of people. The usher called the next group of performers to the stage, aiding his ability to make his move  
  
He staggered mid-step, his view cleared to see the arm Martín had wrapped around one of the waitstaff; he twisted a curl of the man's blonde hair around his finger, teasing and unaware of Sergio's presence. The hopes of having an artist that couldn't be easily distracted by a fan flew out the window, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. It all came with the job, but it would've been nice to have a focused professional in his employment for once. He turned to lean against one of the nearby walls, listening to the next stomach-curdling set of notes coming from the stage. Interfering with an intimate moment wasn't the ideal way to begin talks of contracts. However, the way Martín's head titled as he whispered into the other man’s ear put Sergio in line with his peripheral vision. He smirked, and let out a deep chuckle. Martín brought his arm back down to his side, and Sergio watched as a sour expression quickly melted into a sad frown as the man walked away and headed back to his work station. Martín nodded his head in Sergio’s direction, his eyes quickly glanced him over. 

Well, _ this _wasn’t exactly how he wanted to start their good game of chess, but Sergio knew there was no point in waiting any longer now. He inhaled deeply, as he squared his shoulders. He pushed his glasses back to the right spot on his nose, and stepped forward. It may be slightly awkward now, but he had caught a few of their artists in far worse positions. 

“Martín,” he said, as he tried to get the other man’s attention. “I am Sergio—”  
  
“I appreciate you needing to express so much interest in me,” Martín said, his lips tugged into a bright smile, “I am flattered, but personally uninterested. You’re not exactly my type,” he finished as he glanced over his shoulder at Sergio, gesturing over his outfit with his hand. 

Sergio felt his body tense at the tease, his jaw tight as he just stared back in response. If he hadn’t already called Andrés about the new talent, he might have turned and left there and then. He had been flirted with before, but it didn’t usually come off so cheeky. His brain spun, unable to form a clear thought. Martín picked up his guitar, and gently patted him on the shoulder. “Cat got your tongue? I tend to have that effect on people.”  
  
“I am Sergio Marquina,” he rapidly responded, “I, well,” he paused for a moment and stood tall in front of Martín. “I am a talent agent.”  
  
Martín stopped midstep, and turned his attention to focus on Sergio. He wasn’t sure that he had heard that name before, but the title was at least a little promising. He hadn’t really intended for his set that night to turn into anything special. If he had known, he would’ve picked some of his better songs to perform that evening, not the ones he felt like he still struggled to master. 

“Who do you represent?” Martín asked after a moment’s pause, as he tried to let it all sink in. His heart thumped excitedly in his chest, and he squeezed his hand gently trying to contain it. Meeting with one agent didn’t really mean too much, and he wouldn’t let himself get his hopes too much. 

“Fonollosa Records,” Sergio replied, and he reached into his inner coat pocket to remove the brown leather wallet. He pulled out one of the slick black business cards, the writing in a nice silver that stood out well on the matte card. He stuck his hand out to Martín, with the business card lightly held between his fingers.  
  
Martín looked down at the card, and then back up at Sergio. At first glance, he certainly wouldn’t have thought that Sergio could represent that pristine of a label. His ears were still ringing from hearing the name, and wondered if he could have possibly heard it wrong. He gently took the card from Sergio, and held it gently with both hands. The silver, cursive lettering stared back at him, and confirmed that this was really happening. 

_Fonollosa Records. _

Martín ran the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip. His head felt like it was flying above the clouds, which kept him from being able to stop and think straight. rationally. He would’ve asked someone to pinch him, but if this was only a dream he didn’t want to wake up. He gently placed the card into his pocket, and tried to contain most of his excitement. Questions. He knew he should have some questions. He just wasn’t sure what those should be. He glanced up at Sergio, his eyes reflecting some of the nervousness he now felt. 

Sergio watched quietly as Martín had taken the card from him. He didn’t miss seeing Martín catch his breath as he read the words on the card for himself. Sergio knew that he hadn’t noticed himself run a hand through his hair after he had put the card away. The loss of words evident in body language Sergio had seen more than a dozen times. This was going exactly as planned, in their favor just as Sergio had prepared himself for. Even if the artist thought they deserved it, or had the confidence to hope that it might happen someday, their hard work actually paying off always threw them for a loop. 

“Is there a better place to talk?” Sergio asked, projecting his voice to get over the sound of the drums out on the stage. Martín gestured for him to follow. 

They walked down a short, narrow corridor that led to a poorly stocked storage room that had turned dressing room for the evening. Martín turned on the light, which took a minute to flicker on dimly. A couple of old boxes were pushed against the walls. The bottom boxes were starting to fall in on themselves, unable to support the boxes placed on top of them. There was one, bright blue, thin body-length mirror, dirty and chipped in the middle. It leaned against some of the boxes next to a hanging rack. A small white table had a couple of chairs leaned against it. Nothing looked sanitary. It was almost dusty and unclean enough to make Sergio suggest they go somewhere else. But as he closed the door behind him, he realized that was enough to muffle some of the sounds coming from the stage. At least that was a bonus. 

Sergio gestured to one of the black chairs with one of his hands. As Martín went to sit down, he felt it shift under his weight from the poor leg support. He stopped for a moment, and carefully positioned himself. Sergio smiled as he watched, knowing every little inconvenience worked in his favor. It all made the other person more prepared to listen than do all of the talking; which led to them being more willing to agree to their terms. Perhaps this room could work to his advantage after all. 

He took the chair opposite, and took his phone from his jacket pocket. “Relax,” he said. His voice was calm and set at an even tone. He smiled, as Martín nervously squeezed his knees with his fingers.

“What brought you here tonight? I didn’t think you’d be allowed to come find talent somewhere like this,” Martín said, as he released a deep breath. He was grateful his first question was less about him and more about the label. Best to allow his mind a chance to find it’s natural confidence again. 

“I came to see RIcardo’s performance with my girlfriend, and her friend,” he replied, with a chuckle. “It was glorified karaoke, but a rather enjoyable spectacle.” 

Martín nodded, “He invited me here to perform after him. It’s been a little while since I had the chance to play.” His left foot lightly tapped the ground as he spoke, not meeting Sergio’s eye. 

“Well, I must say your performance got me to stay much longer than I intended. You could’ve fooled me.” 

Martín smiled, and felt a surge of pride shoot through his body at the compliment. “Music has always been a passion of mine. I teach engineering at the university to pay the bills.” 

“Engineering? I considered taking a few courses before I got sick. By the time I got better, my brother’s company was off the ground and he talked me into coming to work for him.” 

Sergio watched as Martín's head moved slightly backwards while his eyes blinked quickly. With the performers he wanted to pursue more seriously, Sergio always found a moment early on to let them know exactly who he was. Being just an agent at the label was one thing, but being Andrés' brother brought his opinion to a higher level.It shifted the conversation further in his favor. His suggestions were rarely declined and it had been a couple of years since the last time that had happened. 

“You’re...his brother?” Martín asked, the surprise still evident in his voice. He wouldn’t have guessed that from looking at him. He had seen a couple of pictures of Andrés de Fonollosa in magazines, tabloids, and the rare post on social media. He supposed there were some similarities in bone structure, which he could only notice once he got past Sergio’s fashion sense.  
  
“Well, half-brothers,” Sergio corrected with a smile. “But raised together, played together, built his business together.”  
  
“And he lets you out dressed like a grandpa?” Martín asked again, this time with a small smirk of his own. “I would have thought there would be higher standards than that.”  
  
This time it was Sergio’s turn to blink at the sudden cockiness. For a moment, he would’ve sworn he was sitting across from Andrés. Martín wore a similar expression he had seen on his brother’s face after he walked into the office wearing something new. Though, Andrés had long ago given up on trying to change his wardrobe. “Only for our artists,” Sergio replied, with a chuckle. “Thankfully, it is rather easy for the agents to get drowned out in Andrés' shadow.” He pointed up and down at what Martín was wearing. “You don’t seem like you have much room to talk.”  
  
“This is a costume for the performance,” Martín replied. “I do have some better tastes.”  
  
“We will have to see if it fits the label. That is a requirement. Andrés is quite particular in what he expects,” Sergio said, as he glanced down at his phone once more. He tapped a little box to check off that topic of discussion. “We can table that for now, but we will come back to it before you have a chance to meet with him.”  
  
“I’m going to meet with him? Him, personally?”  
  
Sergio nodded. “He makes time for the best, we don’t trouble him directly with everyone but he has already shown interest in you.”  
  
Martín fidgeted in his chair, the grin growing on his face. “What do you need from me?”  
  
“Headshots. Any demos you might have on you. Contact information,” Sergio said and ticked each off his list. “And we need you to agree not meet with anyone else while you are in contact with us. After we have come to our decision, there is a thirty-day waiting period before you can pursue any other offers.”  
  
“That’s demanding for nothing being guaranteed,” Martín responded, as he moved his hand to tap his fingers on his chin. Sergio didn’t speak, but instead watched as Martín thought about the things he had laid out on the table. It wasn’t a quick agreement to his terms, which he usually got from younger, more immature artists who were just quick to jump on the opportunity. It wasn’t the worst either, that revealed characteristics that wouldn’t fit with the record either. 

Martín was proving to be rather promising, just as Sergio had hoped he would. 

“We expect the best, because we are the best. Andrés wouldn’t have it any other way, and neither would I.”

“Understandable,” Martín mumbled, still thinking it over. “How fast does this all happen?”  
  
“Well, I wouldn’t quit your day job just yet. But, once Andrés has the paperwork, the demo, and the headshots the decision is almost instantaneous. We don’t waste our time. Building your exposure would come next, if you are good enough.” 

Sergio opened the form for Martín to sign, as he held out his phone. Martín looked up from the phone to Sergio, but his face held a look of determination. He took the phone from Sergio, and started to read through the one page contract. He carefully took his time, reading over every word. Everything seemed rather cut and dry, and he wondered for a moment if this was all too easy. 

Sergio had said this didn’t mean anything, it was just an agreement to wait for their decision to avoid a conflict of interest. But, he had also said the Andrés de Fonollosa was interested in him. His heart still soared from hearing that. It was something all musicians hoped for, their moment to not only be noticed but to have it come from the best of the best. Surely, he didn’t have anything to lose by agreeing to their conditions. A couple of his songs or covers had played on the radio at the university, during the early hours of the morning. Sometimes, he had a couple gigs. But, nobody as important had stumbled across his music before. This might be his only chance. He owed it to himself to see it through. 

His eyes reached the bottom of the document, and his fingers swiped across the screen. He looked up to see Sergio already standing, hand ready to take his phone back. 

“We look forward to working with you more, Martín,” he said pleasantly. 

It seemed sincere, which only excited him more. He jumped to his feet from his chair. “I have a CD in my car, and a couple of old photos.”  
  
“It is nice to have CDs again. So much is digital these days, but I’m still old fashioned,” Sergio replied as he followed him out. He sent Raquel a message to meet him outside in a few minutes. 

Martín led the way, and let out a deep laugh at Sergio’s comment. “I could have guessed you were old fashioned.” Sergio bowed his head, and rubbed his hand over his beard a little sheepishly. “I mean no offense, but I stick to saying you could learn a thing or two from your brother. He is quite attractive and well dressed.”  
  


Sergio let out a little groan. The last thing they needed was anyone else throwing themselves at Andrés. He paused slightly in his step, shaking his head. It was just a compliment meant to be teasing him. It certainly wouldn’t lead to anything more. He resumed his walk before Martín had a moment to realize he was no longer directly behind him.  
  
“Yes, well, he has a far bigger ego to maintain,” Sergio responded, shaking his head fondly at the thought of his older brother.  
  
He heard Martín let out a loud laugh, as he stepped towards an old blue Nissan. For being a slightly older model, it appeared to be very well taken care of. Martín walked around to the back, and put his guitar away. He came back with a black square case and something that looked like a folded piece of paper. He gave Sergio the CD. He placed the paper down on the top of the car, and began to try and smooth it out with the palm of his hand. Sergio recognized was a photograph and made a mental note to have more taken if Andrés decided he wanted to meet with him. The quality alone wouldn’t be up to the standards Andrés wanted for his files. 

“Thank you, Martín,” he said, as he kept his hand securely around the case. He looked over Martín's shoulder as he continued to try and flatten out the picture with his hand. 

Martín held his guitar and was looking up at the camera. It was a black and white photo, but Sergio could make out a leather jacket, with a scarf wrapped around his neck. He wore what looked like nicer jeans, and he was sitting on a barstool. The background of the photo looked like it would’ve been a red brick wall, so it didn’t distract from the subject. It wasn’t the worst photo to start with, but Sergio worried that Andrés would have some reservations based on what he was wearing. 

“I’ll be in contact after the weekend,” Sergio said, as Martín carefully handed over the photograph. “I have until Tuesday off, my girlfriend was rather insistent that I had been working too hard at the office. Not that she was wrong,” he trailed off. “So, Tuesday or Wednesday. I’ll be in contact.”  
  
“Women,” Martín said, with a little shudder of disgust. “Best of luck,” he added cheerfully. 

Sergio placed the photograph and CD into one hand so he could extend the other to shake Martín's hand. However, Martín leaned in and hugged him with one arm. Sergio just stood there, surprised at how forward he was. Usually by this point, the artist was reduced to an emotional wreck from over excitement. He never really knew what to do in those situations. But, this was entirely different and he didn’t know what to do now either so there just didn’t seem to be any winning for him at this stage.  
  
“I’ll wait for your call,” Martín said, as he opened the door to the driver’s seat. “Thank you,” he added, barely audible for Sergio to hear. It was a mask of his humility, that had only crept up in small doses during their conversation. Sergio had to applaud him for his self-confidence. 

He stood back, and raised his hand in a small wave as Martín drove off. He sent Raquel a message to meet him at the bar entrance, finally ready to head off for the evening. He turned up his coat collar at the slight chill that filled the air. He carefully maintained his hand on the photograph and the CD. This was the first time in several months he had been this excited about a new artist, and he was determined to get Martín's contract going once he was back in the office. Andrés already approved of what he had heard, which meant things would run smoothly for them. A nice commission check wouldn’t hurt, but Sergio knew part of his excitement was simply the result of finding such raw talent in a world that was becoming increasingly autotuned. 

Raquel was waiting for him, her arms wrapped around her at the sudden drop in the weather. Sergio took off his jacket, and lightly wrapped it around her shoulders. “Did you have a nice evening?” He asked her, his free hand holding hers as they started to walk.  
  
“Not as nice as you, it seems. I had started to think you’d forgotten all about me.”  
  
“I didn’t mean to end up working this weekend. If I might remind you, it was your fault we were even there,” he teased back, as he leaned over and gently kissed her cheek. “But I do apologize, Raquel.”  
  
“I guess you’ll just have to make it up to me when we get home,” she whispered in his ear, making him blush once more. The rest of their walk home was at a slightly accelerated pace. Sergio placed his phone in one of the drawers in the kitchen once they were back, his mind set on no more distractions for the rest of the long weekend.  
  
\---  
  
The alarm signaled far too early at a quarter past 6 on Tuesday morning. It was still a little dark outside, the sun not quite ready to greet the morning. Sergio woke to an empty bed, but a little note on the white bedside table next to him. Raquel was back on the early shift, which meant lonely mornings in bed without her. Even with how plush the mattress was and how warm and soft the sheets were, there was hardly any point in having a lazy morning in bed if she wasn’t there. It was far better to get into work as early as possible, so he had plenty of time at home with her in the evening. 

He pushed back the covers, letting the slight chill over the room hit him. It was always the same routine once he was awake. A warm shower, then he’d quickly get dressed. He had his briefcase ready to go on the counter next to the kettle. He had his cup of tea with two sugars, and it was out the door.  
  
The commute to the studio wasn’t very glamorous. The streets had a light buzz as some of the other businesses started their own preparations for the day’s work. The sun had come over the horizon, and started to bring some warmth with it. He smiled at a couple of the people as he passed them. He had gotten familiar with some of their neighbors as time had passed. Their buildings were filled with light and color, and welcomed everyone who wanted to enter.  
  
Andrés' building stood against them in a proud contrast. His was a few centimetres taller than the ones around it. It wasn’t enough to ruin the aesthetic, but just enough to be one small factor that made it stand out. Unlike the buildings next to it, there was no indication of a name or address. There were a few tall windows around the rectangular building, but there was shaded. Passerby couldn’t look in and see what was going on inside the walls. He knew and tried to understand Andrés' paranoia, considering their competition had smuggled their way in before. But, nothing happened on the bottom floor and it would’ve taken a small giant to see into the second floor. 

He scanned his ID card before he pushed open the tall, glass door. He quickly worked his way to the far wall, and typed in his security code to turn off the alarms. He flicked on the lights so he was no longer standing in the dark, and headed up the marble stairs to his office. 

The inside of the studio spoke more to elegance than mystery. On the first floor, there were two black leather sofas neatly arranged around a thin coffee table. On the wall next to it was a built-in electric fireplace, held in place by a dark brick wall. Andrés had it installed after a particularly “enlightening” visit to an American partner. Sergio rolled his eyes as he listened to him recount the need for one, but to him it all just sounded very pretentious. 

There wasn’t much else on that floor, apart from the receptionist’s desk on the opposite wall. It was small, but held her two computers, a phone, and a little room for the decorations Andrés had carefully approved for her.  
  
The first floor had multiple recording rooms, and a couple of offices for the lower level employees. The offices all had at least one glass wall, allowing Andrés or Sergio the ability to look into them at any given time. They both had agreed on a certain set of rules and expectations for the workers. Work was a time to work, and if the two of them were expected to follow that themselves, then so would everyone else. The four recording studios at the end of the hall offered a little more privacy. There was more respect for the artistic process that demanded things be a little quieter. 

The final floor had his and Andrés' offices, on opposite sides of the hall. In between was one conference room, a couple of small storage rooms, and one receptionist desk. He was lucky to have beat Andrés to the office that morning and have a little time to organize his thoughts about presenting Martín. He might even have time to catch up on the hundreds of emails waiting for him in his inbox before he was questioned about them. 

His office was a little more personalized compared to some of the others. The glass wall was smaller, which gave him just enough privacy of his own. Andrés had accommodated his need for it. He had a wooden bookshelf on the wall behind his desk that had a couple of music theory books, records from clients, and two photographs of Raquel. His long desk was carefully arranged with a slick computer in the middle. To the right, there were a few locked drawers where he kept his current files. He pulled out a new one and started to put one together for Martín.  
  
It felt like only moments had gone by when he heard a noise outside of the office. He glanced at his watch and noticed it had been a little more than a half hour since he had arrived. Looking up, he saw a thin man in a neat, black suit. His dark blue tie gave him just a small splash of color and helped him look a little less pale. The man smiled at him as he crossed the distance over to his office.  
  
“Sergio!” He said as he entered the room, and leaned back in one of the smaller guest chairs. “I was beginning to think Raquel had you locked up and you’d never get to return to work! You stopped responding to my messages. I thought I’d never hear from you again.” 

Sergio rolled his eyes, before he looked at Andrés with a flat face. “You can be such an ass. It was one weekend.”  
  
He chuckled, as he leaned back further in his seat. “Now, is that anyway to greet me? I missed you dearly, little brother. Work just isn’t the same without you here.” He looked at Sergio liked a wounded dog, eyes wide and a pout to match.  
  
“Don’t act so pathetic, Andrés, it doesn’t suit you,” Sergio scolded as he turned off his monitor. He moved his chair to the side so there wasn’t anything in between the two of them. Then, he placed the folder he had been working on in the empty space.  
  
Andrés tapped it gently with one finger. “I am pleased to see you have gotten to work so early on this. He must truly be as good as he seemed in my short preview.”  
  
“I’d almost argue better. We haven’t come across anyone this good in months, Andrés. It’s exactly what we’ve been looking for.”  
  
Andrés nodded, as he reflected over the weight on Sergio’s words. They certainly weren’t hurting for money, but it had been far too long since they had found anyone who excited him. He flipped the file open, and started to look over the contents. He immediately noticed the crumpled photograph, and looked up at Sergio with one eyebrow raised.  
  
“Not the start I’d necessarily want,” he muttered, as he picked it up with one hand. He rubbed his chin as he looked at it, the man in the photo staring back at him. At first glance, his style wasn’t the worst thing that Andrés had ever seen. The scarf certainly would have to go, but there were always changes to be made early on. He was attractive enough, but not necessarily by any traditional standards. Still, it would be enough to market him and attract some numbers that way. 

He pushed the CD across the desk to Sergio, who slid it into the disc reader on his computer monitor. Andrés remained looking at the photograph, a million ideas already rushing through his mind as the music started to play faintly in the background. It was the same song he had listened to over the phone from the bar, but it sounded a little more practiced and prepared.  
_  
_ _ But my dreams  
__They aren't as empty  
__As my conscience seems to be  
__I have hours, only lonely  
__My love is vengeance  
__That's never free_

Martín delivered well, and the focus on the word _ free _ struck a chord inside of him. It was still powerful, beautiful music and it made Andrés crave more. There was certainly promise here, and he was determined to possess some part of it. He smiled as he looked up at Sergio. “Get him prepared for a meeting with me. Sort something out with Monica, for this week or next at the latest.” He rose from his chair, but kept a hand on it for a moment. “I want him dressed better than that and I want new headshots.”  
  
“I’ll take care of it,” Sergio agreed, smiling at his brother. Excitement radiated off of him. This was the first client he thought he could like in his long list of divas. Most of his best behaved talent had been handed off to other workers who couldn’t handle the pressure of some of those more high maintenance.  
  
As he headed out the door to his office, Andrés turned around once more. A thin smile was across his face as he looked proudly at Sergio. “Good job. If you wouldn’t mind, also arrange for Tatiana to come in sometime this week. She whined a little that it had been far too long since she’d seen you, and I’m too busy to completely take her on.” Without another word, Andrés walked across the way to his office. Sergio let out a groan as he pulled at the top of his hair with one hand. So _ she _was who was with Andrés the other night. 

Certainly best he call her then, and put a little distance between them again.  
  
She wouldn’t appreciate a call this early, though, so Sergio found himself dialing a different number. He smiled as it was picked up after only a couple rings, “Hello, Martín. When are you available in the next two weeks?” **  
**


	3. A Contract

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to my few readers! Thanks once again for the kudos. Life was crazy in the month of November and I kind of lost my desire to want to work on this. But! We got a date for LCDP4 and that has revamped my interested in the fandom and in my OTP. I really hope to have a good chunk of this written by 3 April, so bare with me.

When Martín finally woke up, sometime around midday on Sunday, he could feel the sun peaking in on him from the window. He turned over to his side, trying to find solace in the last few hours he could be lazy before he would have to prepare his lectures for the week. The events from the night before flashed across his mind as he rubbed a hand over his face, trying to wake himself up. Some small part of him was convinced it had all been a dream. It was an easier pill to swallow after all. It wouldn’t be the first time a performance had led to too many drinks after the show, a couple of substances slipped in between bottles. Sleepily, his feet hit the floor and he forced himself out of the bed. He slowly walked over, heart beating slow at the fear it would prove to all be a dream. He had thrown his clothes from the night before on the grey plush chair on the opposite side of the room. He began to look through the pockets of his jeans, and pulled out his wallet. He narrowed his eyes, as he slowly opened it up. It took only a moment to see the black card sticking out from one of his IDs.   
  
He dropped his wallet back on the pile of clothes and held the card in both hands. _ Fonollosa Records. _ He had really spoken to Andrés de Fonollosa’s little brother last night, and things might actually started to pick up. He smiled, a little more ready to face the day.   
  
A few hours went by, and he realized that he had spent the entire time staring at a blank computer screen. His back was hunched over from sitting at the table, fingers poised to type any notes he needed to add, but he still found himself doing no work. His mind was entirely elsewhere, even though he knew it was futile. Sergio said it would be several days until he heard anything, and even then he still might not hear anything at all. Just because they had liked him once late at night in some dusty bar didn’t mean that was going to stick. 

He closed the computer, and instead reached for a yellow pad of paper and a black pen. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst idea to prepare a set. Certainly, if they called him in they would want him ready to showcase a little more of what he was capable of. And he had never been one to sit around and just wait for things to fall into place. He had worked for everything he achieved this far in life, and that wasn’t about to stop now. 

He tapped the end of the pen against his bottom lip. He closed his eyes and he tried to hear words or a melody. _ Nothing. _ His head tilted back as he groaned. There was nothing worse than a block. Perhaps it was best to get out of the apartment if he wasn’t going to get any work done. He knew he wouldn’t find inspiration looking around the bare apartment. There were a few random chairs around the room, a couple of building models, but definitely nothing he could write a song about. He couldn’t imagine going into the studio with a song titled _ Chairs and Leche. _

He pulled his phone from the pocket of his silky red robe. He hesitated for a moment before he hit the call button. Slowly, he raised the phone to his ear, while he tapped the pen against the table with his other hand. It rang long enough that he started to think there wouldn’t be an answer, until he was met with a groggy, “Martín, it’s the middle of the afternoon, I’m trying to sleep.”   
  
“Denver, it’s _ the middle of the afternoon _ ,” Martín echoed slowly, putting a heavy emphasis on each of the words. “Get off your ass,” he replied, rolling his eyes. It was always reassuring to know that he hadn’t been the laziest person of the day. Though, he knew it wasn’t saying much if he had only done more with his day than Denver had done with his.   
  
“Fuck off,” he heard Denver moan back, his voice muffled. Martín could almost see his head pressed into the pillow, eyes squeezed shut.   
  
“You owe me, and I need out. Nairobi’s friend, the cop, I think? Her boyfriend is Andrés de Fonollosa’s brother--”   
  
“Yes, I know.”   
  
“Son of a bitch, this whole time you knew? And you let me play _ that _set in front of him?” 

He heard Denver’s exaggerated chuckle coming from the other end of the phone. If they had been in the same room, Martín was certain his fist would have connected with Denver’s jaw. Suddenly, his laugh cut off sharply. It was as if he had finally connected the important meaning behind the phone call without being told. “Wait, how did you know?” 

“He talked to me after. Thankfully being the _ only _ talented performer of the night set me apart, and I’m waiting to hear back from the label.” He could feel his chest puff out proudly. He constantly had to remind himself that nothing was set in stone, but it was futile. He couldn’t help the excitement last night, and he certainly couldn’t help it now.   
  
“What do you need?” They were the first words out of Denver’s mouth he could actually make out, and not have to half guess about what was being said.   
  
“Inspiration,” he replied. He had already started to walk around his small living area. He gathered things absentmindedly that he hoped would help. “Motivation.”   
  
Denver laughed again, “I could send you a _ friend _ . Nothing to get the juices flowing like a good fuc--”   
  
“If I wanted my music to be as shitty as yours, I’d take you up on that offer. Meet me here in thirty minutes.” He ended the phone call before he could listen to any objections Denver might try to give him. He wondered for a moment if he had made the right call in reaching out to Denver. He knew it wouldn’t hurt to bounce ideas off another artist, but he could hardly consider Denver one. For someone who came from a musical lineage, his friend couldn’t carry a tune. Perhaps calling someone who couldn’t meet the record’s expectations was the wrong decision, but what else was he going to do?   
  
Martín knew he had talent. Most of it had come naturally, from a very young age. He had trained and studied as much as he could. His performances were constantly improving. He only held himself accountable to delivering the very best. But, even at his very best it had only ever been something he did on the side. Of course, when he was younger he wished he could make a name for himself playing music. But, the older he had become, the more impractical it became. He knew he was rusty the night before, yet his talent had been there somewhere waiting for him to tap into it again. But, he wondered if it was just a fluke of being the best the bar had to offer. 

He groaned, unable to admit to himself that he was nervous. He had one chance, and all he could do was sit and wait for the next step. But, he couldn’t live without having any sense of control. He cursed himself for letting nerves get the better of him. They were responsible for drowning out any creativity he could’ve felt naturally. Perhaps Sergio had made a mistake. Martín wondered for a moment about the probability the talent agent would figure that out before he went back into the office. There was a good chance he would never hear from them. “A far better chance you won’t, be honest Martín,” he muttered into his hands. His face fell into his palms, nerves getting the better of him. 

It was only a few minutes later when he heard a loud tapping at the door. He took a deep breath, collecting his thoughts before he went to answer the door. It made him feel better that it was only Denver on the other side. He quickly opened the door for his friend to walk through. 

Denver had a hooded jean jacket which covered a white shirt, a thin chain necklace, and tight dark jeans to complete the look. Martín was grateful he looked so put together, until he saw the look he received in return. His eyebrows creased as he looked at Martín. Martín was still in his silky red robe, which covered a dirty white shirt and old grey sweatpants. Denver reached under his arm, and pulled out a brown paper bag. He raised it in his hand, shaking his head at Martín. “You look like shit.”   
  
“I didn’t ask you to tell me how I looked, Denver,” Martín chastised back.   
  
“You should. Fonollosa isn’t going to take you seriously looking like you came out of the sewer,” Denver replied, turning up his nose. “You look pathetic Martín.” He put the bottle down on the counter. “Have a drink.”   
  
Martín inhaled deeply, his hand reaching out to gently brush the bottle. It certainly wouldn’t help, but he wasn’t sure what else could hurt his odds at this point. He couldn’t stop the doubt from creeping up in his mind. Only, this time, the thoughts found his tongue as he whispered, “if they even call.”   
  
Denver reached out to whack the back of his friend’s head. “You sound like an overly emotional woman.” He flinched back as Martín stepped forward, his eyes darkened. “Look, you have the biggest ego out of anyone I know. Why are you being so whiny about it now?” 

Martín reached for the bottle once more. He unscrewed the cap and took a large chug in one shift moment. Denver had a point. “I have more talent than people like you,” he finally replied. “But have you listened to the people they’ve signed? I can’t even come up with new material.”   
  
Denver shrugged in response. He pulled out one of the table chairs, before he sat down. He nodded his head softly, as if he was trying to think something through. Martín appreciated that he seemed to be actually trying to be helpful. “Why force new things when you can just perfect what you already have? New isn’t always better,” he finally suggested. “Get some of your older stuff and get that ready.”   
  
“It’s not that simple.”   
  
“Do you think all of those artists write their own stuff? No. They’ll be grateful to hear something different than the same shitty covers,” Denver insisted. He took the bottle from Martín, having a drink of his own.   
  
Martín opened his mouth to argue, before he closed it quickly once more. Perhaps he had a point in arguing that other artists rarely brought their own material. He hated most of the music that came out these days and actively avoided learning most of it. He had been teased more than once for his tastes. The word _ pompous _had been thrown around more than once in his presence. But that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. He considered what he knew of the elusive Andrés, and some of the things Sergio had said. Perhaps Denver had a point. 

He quickly walked back into his room. Shifting through one of his drawers, he pulled out a little green leather book. It was worth a shot to do what Denver suggested, and had more potential than his attempts at creating something new. They certainly would be able to tell what lacked passion. He couldn’t risk bringing in anything like that. He grabbed his guitar as he walked back into the main room. “Not your worst idea,” he teased. 

Denver smirked, letting out a loud laugh. “I’m not as dumb as you think. Now, let’s hear what you’ve got.” 

\-----

Monday had gone by in a slow blur. Martín felt as if each minute had dragged on for hours, and had only gotten longer the more time went past. He knew his mind should’ve been focused on work, but it was anywhere else. More than once, he had been convinced his phone was vibrating in his pocket. He would take it out, only to be met with disappointment as the blank, dark screen looked back up at him.   
  
He locked himself in his office during his free time. Denver had helped him come up with a handful of songs to work on. They had spent a good portion of the night working. Of course, the work didn’t last forever whenever Denver was around. Martín could still feel the light thumping in his head from having a little too much to drink, followed by too little sleep.   
  
He walked up and down the rows of desks, trying to focus. He enjoyed his job, and normally it was easy to focus on work. But, his mind kept going back to the little black card in his wallet. It had Sergio’s number on it, and it seemed to call out to him like a siren’s song. How desperate would he come off, though, if he called him just a day and a half later? He inhaled deeply, wondering if it was worth his pride to give him a call. 

Of course it would, the rational part of his brain argued. He wasn’t the kind of man who would get down on his knees and beg. He would shrink any self-confidence he had around the agent if he started off a professional relationship like that. Sergio didn’t seem like the type of man who would appreciate someone begging for attention. And, if Sergio wouldn’t tolerate groveling, he was certain Fonollosa would be less inclined.   
  
He refocused his energy and found the second half of the day went much faster than the first. His lecture was far more engaging, and he welcomed the distraction with open arms. By the time he was finished for the evening, he knew it was too late for any incoming phone calls. It didn’t bother him so much anymore that he hadn’t heard anything. Instead, he found motivation to go home and work on the set he and Denver had pieced together. There were five songs they had agreed were some of his best. They just required a little more practice before Martín would be completely comfortable playing for the label. 

He rested his foot on a small stool, and held his guitar over his knee. In front of him sat an open book, with texts just large enough for him to read the notes and the lyrics. It was an old song, once he had started to work on years ago. He hit record on his camera before he started to play. 

_   
_ _ Well, I could kiss you like he did  
__Bet you wish I had his lips  
__But I don't, no, I don't  
__And I could hold you quite the same  
__Guess my arms don't seem as safe  
__When it's cold, when it's cold_

He put his guitar down, already hearing things he wanted to correct. He paused the recording, before he picked up his notebook. He made little notes of things to change and what bothered him so far.   
  
His eyes fluttered open with a groan, as he heard his phone ringing loudly. He sat up on the sofa, his back stiff. He couldn’t quite remember moving here to fall asleep, but that was where he had ended up. Part of him considered ignoring his phone and moving to his bed, but he decided against it. He turned it over to see a number he didn’t quite recognize on the screen. He stood tall, answering it. He could feel his mind flooded with hope that this was the call he had been waiting for.   
  
“Hello?” He said, trying to mask how groggy he sounded.   
  
“Hello, Martín.” Martín felt himself break into a wide smile at recognition of the voice. “When are you available in the next two weeks?”   
  
His free arm shot a fist of victory upward into the air, the other keeping the phone pressed against his ear. He contemplated his answer for a moment. The first response he wanted to give would be in just a few hours. But, he managed to reel in some of his excitement. He did still have a day job to worry about, and desperation could still break the deal. 

“Anytime after Friday,” he said. 

“I look forward to seeing you on Saturday. It’ll be a short meeting, but there are some things we need to go over before you meet with Andrés. Wardrobe, for a start.”   
  
Martín could hear the teasing chuckle on the other end of the line, and shook his head in response. “Do you think that’ll be enough time for you to learn something about fashion? Seems like a lot of research to me.”   
  
“Yes, well, you just let me worry about that, and focus on coming up with a set. During our meeting on Saturday, we will find a good day for you to come into the office.”   
  
They ended their conversation by exchanging pleasantries. By the time the call ended, Martín was almost dancing around the room. It all seemed to be coming together now, piece by piece. If he didn’t have a lecture to prepare for, he might have sprung for a bottle of champagne. Instead, he would have to settle for a warm shower and a hot cup of coffee before he headed out the door. 

The rest of the week flew by in a blur. His excitement never dwindled, but he kept it to himself. He wasn’t sure what the protocol was, but he didn’t have many people he would have wanted to call anyway. A couple of times, he had picked up his phone and dialed Denver’s number. If there was anyone he could reach out to, he supposed it would be him. But, it never failed that as the phone started to ring he would just turn it off again. Better to wait until he had a more formal meeting at the studio. He was fine keeping it to himself anyway. He had never been one for very close friends and he knew very little of his family. Denver hadn’t reached out to him to follow up, which made it easier to just keep it to himself.   
  
Between lectures and sleep, he had thrown himself into preparing the set. It was all coming together rather well, and he was satisfied with his improvements. After he had finished tidying up his small flat, he had gotten ready for the day. He had settled on an old, dark pair of jeans and a long sleeve grey shirt. He wasn’t sure how far it would get him, but it was better than what he had been wearing the night he first met Sergio. Martín rationalized that today’s outfit didn’t matter as much anyway. If Sergio didn’t like it, that would be something they went over before he was brought into the studio. If he did, then that was simply one less thing he had to worry about. 

Instead, he sat at the small piano in the corner of the room and continued to work. He was a little less experienced with playing the piano than his guitar, but it didn’t fit the piece he was working on. The melody coming off the keys was something new he hadn’t tried before. The song was gentle, and his brain kept coming up with romantic images. But, the words were still at a loss to him everytime he tried to pair the two. Traditionally, he would have waited until he had at least a small idea of what he wanted the lyrics to be before he started adding the music. The notes called to him too much to ignore, and he had decided it was better not to waste the surge of creativity energy. At the very least, it was good practice on the piano. 

He wondered if part of the reason he was having such a hard time writing a love song was his _ lack _ of a love life. Though, thinking of that sent a shudder down his spine. There wasn’t anything particularly bad about not having a boyfriend. He had plenty of sexual encounters, pretty much whenever he wanted them. If any of them were worth his time, he would’ve kept them around. But, after only a handful of evenings together with the same person, it was onto someone new. Though, it might have made his ability to write a decent love song a little easier if he had a muse.   
  
He tapped his finger against one of the chipped keys, his head nodding lightly as he tried to picture what to include next. He made little notes of things he liked and bolded notes about things he hated. He tried to remain focused, but a soft knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. He shot to his feet, knowing he was only expecting one visitor. He crossed the short distance between the door and the piano quickly. His hand shook a little from nerves, as his hand wrapped around the door handle.   
  
“Hello, Martín,” Sergio said with a smile. He looked extremely similar to what he had been wearing the week before. Sergio currently had on a light blue checkered shirt, with a tan jacket over it. His slacks matched his jacket. It was a slight improvement from the week before. He would still argue that Sergio looked like he had just stepped out of the 1950s. 

“Come in,” he said, standing to the side. As Sergio walked into his flat, Martín took notice of the two shopping bags in his left hand. In the other, he had a brown leather camera bag. He assumed that meant there would be new photos to be taken, and he was glad he had taken a little time to tidy up. “I’ve been working on some music.”   
  
“Good to hear,” Sergio replied. “Keep doing that for now, and we will be ready to listen to whatever you have ready at the office.” He gestured with his hand to his outfit, “but we still need to work on this.”   
  
“This _ is _ nice,” Martín said, with a roll of his eyes. “It’s a good style, I would think.” His tone came off a little more argumentative than he intended. He knew part of it was dressing the part they wanted him to. But, this was what he was comfortable playing his music in. He wasn’t so certain he was ready to sacrifice everything that made him an individual to fit the mold they wanted. High fashion was never really his thing.   
  
“It’s not bad,” Sergio agreed. He paused, setting the things down on the table. It was clear he was trying not to make the situation awkward by accidentally offending Martín, while still trying to maintain control of the conversation. “But, there is a standard and if you’d like to impress Andrés we will have to mold you to that.”   
  
Martín chuckled, as he pulled out a chair. He sat down, his hand opening the bag enough to take a little peek inside. “Your brother is as much of an ass as they say, then?”   
  
Sergio exhaled deeply, as his eyes shut tight for a moment. It was clear something about the question had upset him more than Martín intended. The pause dragged on longer than he would have expected. It was obvious it was more than Sergio wanting to defend his older sibling out of some brotherly duty. Martín opened his mouth quickly, ready to apologize for the offense, but Sergio raised his hand to cut him off. “Andrés is unapologetically himself.” 

It wasn’t quite the response Martín had anticipated, and the carefully selected words weighed heavily on his mind. Plenty of people were unapologetically themselves, but they didn’t have quite the reputation that Andrés de Fonollosa did. He hadn’t kept up with the tabloids in the last year, but there were plenty of rumors that circled. He had seem little things pop up on social media, and headlines caught his eye when he walked past vendors. Martín dismissed a lot, not wanting to get himself caught up in business that wasn’t his. But, little things still stuck out and flooded his memory in that moment. He supposed unapologetically himself was more of an excuse that the company gave out on his behalf.   
  
Sergio’s voice broke him from his thoughts. “He’s worked hard to build the company, and his expectations are very high,” he smiled, trying to break the little bit of tension between them, “and I suppose he could be considered a bit of an ass. You’ll just have to give him a chance.”   
  
Martín nodded, and moved one of the bags from the table to his lap. “May I?” he asked, though he was already starting to shift through the contents. Most of it were all from brands he recognized, but would never actually wear even if he could have afforded to splurge on them. His lip curled as he continued to sort through the clothes. There were a variety of textiles, from jackets and shirts to different types of jeans and trousers. But, nothing that really stuck out to him. It all looked like it would be rather tight and uncomfortable.   
  
Sergio rubbed his chin as he watched Martín. This was never his favorite part, but it was generally easier with some of the younger artists. He knew he had his own style, but they were going to have to work for a compromise before the day was done. “You look like you’re being tortured,” Sergio teased, a small grin on his lips.   
  
Martín pulled out a white, oversized knit sweater with a rounded turtleneck. He looked back and forth between the sweater and Sergio. He held it with both of his thumbs and pointer fingers, as if touching it more than that would give him some sort of disease. A look of disgust remained on his face, with just a small hint of disappointment. “I could agree to being dressed like a doll, but this?” He dropped it back into the bag, the disgust evident in his voice.   
  
Sergio took the bag from his lap, and placed it back on the table. He reached for the second bag, which was a little smaller. He had used some of the more traditional methods to get the clothes in the first bag. They had some contracts and connections with some of the fashion labels, but he knew those were more of a gamble. During the week, he had spent a little bit of time at Andrés’. He knew which side of the closet Andrés actually pulled his wardrobe from. There were other items that had been discarded, or worn on very few occasions years ago. His clothes were still in phenomenal shape, as they were all taken care of. He had carefully shifted through some of those items, and taken a couple of things he thought might work for Martín.   
  
“Try this one,” he suggested, as he handed the bag to him.   
  
Martín sighed, but started to look through it regardless. Already, he saw a little bit of difference between the two bags. The first had looked like it was picked out for young adults who spent most of the day with their head up their ass. This one had clothes that were a little more refined. They were still nicer, but he could appreciate them a little more. Something in a forest green caught his eye and he pulled it out of the bag. The sweater had a circle neck. It was just thick enough to offer warmth, and was made of a soft material. It was more business casual than some of the things he owned, but it was still something he would’ve picked out for himself. “This one,” he said, as he placed it to the side on the table.   
  
“See, that wasn’t so bad.”   
  
Martín ignored Sergio and kept looking through the bag. There was a black bomber jacket that also stood out to him. It would pair well with the sweater, and tie together a little more dignified look. With a pair of dark blue jeans, he would be ready for a new photoshoot. He placed the second bag to the side, contemplating keeping some of the other items for the future. He was sure he would need to provide some things of his own when the time came, but for now using these seemed promising. 

“Will these work for a meeting at the studio?” Martín asked, his mind made up regardless of what Sergio said. This was the best he would be willing to do, and it came out of the approved pile. 

  
“It should, yes,” Sergio nodded. He tapped the leather camera bag with his right pointer finger. “If you don’t mind trying it on, I can take a few photos and get new headshots printed for you. It was another request Andrés had.”   
  
Martín gathered up the sweater and jacket. He headed into his room, but left the door slightly cracked. “I hope this is enough for him,” he called out. He heard Sergio chuckle, but it was still a little awkward. He wondered where the line of how far Sergio would go to defend his brother stopped. He would admit he found the level of devout loyalty rather admirable, though. 

He walked back out after he had gotten dressed. Sergio had cleared a little area against the wall, and was currently pinning up a grey sheet. Martín walked over to help him get it set up for the photoshoot. Sergio glanced at him, and nodded approvingly at the outfit he had chosen. It was a good look, but still made Martín look a little more comfortable than some of the other options Sergio had brought with him. It should be more than enough for his brother, and that was a good load off his shoulders. 

They moved one of Martín stools over in front of the sheet. “Perhaps some with the guitar, and then a few without,” Sergio suggested. 

Martín nodded in agreement. He walked over and grabbed his guitar, before he sat down with it across his knee. He sat tall and gave his best smile for the camera. After a few shots, Martín looked off in the distance trying to imitate the best lost in thought look he could. They continued, changing poses and looks. After they had a sufficient number with the guitar, Sergio had him put it away to take a few others.   
  
“I’ll let you keep that outfit, and the bag if you’d like. Wear something out of that when you come into the studio.”   
  
“What day were you thinking?” Martín asked. He could feel his heartbeat going faster. The excitement was back, and he felt like a kid in a candy shop just about to leave with what he wanted.   
  
Sergio pulled out his phone and looked through his calendar. There were a few appointments with some of the other artists, and a few other things that couldn’t be moved around. He debated for a moment bumping one of Tatiana’s appointments to later in the week. He wondered if that would be worth the headache he would get of listening to her complain, and then decided against it. That only left the upcoming Friday, or nothing for two weeks. “Friday if you want to do it sooner than later.”   
  
Martín nodded and rested his hands on Sergio’s shoulders as he kissed his cheek. Sergio blinked at him, a little taken aback by the gesture. He finished by shaking Sergio’s hand, a wide smile still on his face. “Friday it is,” he agreed. He saw Sergio out the door, and then leaned against it after he closed it. All he could hope for was that the week would fly by once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! likes and kudos feed your starving writer.


	4. Fonollosa Records

The week went by in a haze, just as Martín had hoped. He had carefully paced his lectures throughout the week, making the material just a little shorter than it needed to be each day. The build up left him caught up with his students on Thursday, which was justification enough to cancel class for the next day. No one spoke up to complain about the free day, not that he was expecting anyone to. But, being caught up with the material left him feeling a little less guilty about taking the free day. Part of his recognized that this could be his last year at the university, which meant he should enjoy each and every day. He had felt a little guilty about the need to take the whole day off and giving himself one less day at a job he did enjoy. However, Sergio had set the date and he wasn’t going to give up the opportunity for anything.  
  
Thursday night saw little sleep for Martín. He had tossed and turned on each side, his eyes glued shut trying to force sleep to come. He found his mind was racing too much, excitement and nerves bouncing around his head. The meeting wasn’t until later in the afternoon, so that at least meant he would be able to lie in bed a little longer in the morning. He settled on his back, hands folded over his chest. He stared up at the ceiling, going over the lyrics to his set in his head. If he wasn’t going to be able to sleep, he could at least be productive and make sure he wasn’t going to make a fool of himself. 

Each word was carefully committed to memory. Any free time he had in the past two weeks had been spent practicing and preparing. He told himself he was ready, and decided he was going to trust that. There was no point in letting the nerves override him and leave him unable to perform. He wouldn’t shoot himself in the foot like that. He knew he was talented, and he knew that years of hard work would come through.  
  
But sleep still evaded him. His right hand reached over to the bedside table, and removed his phone from the charger. He wasn’t quite sure what compelled him to be getting on social media, but he continued to do so anyway. His own instagram had less than fifteen images. They were random ones he had posted of him with his guitar, a couple of nights out with Denver and his friends, and one of his favorite park at sunset. He was certain he wouldn’t have remembered his password, so he was grateful the app had left him logged in. He paused for a moment, debating the point of looking at Andrés’ profile. Perhaps seeing a few photographs would be enough to kill a few of the remaining nerves. Underneath it all, he was just a person trying to give him a job. It really wasn’t that different from when he had interviewed to work at the university. If he didn’t get the job, there could still be other opportunities. If he did, then he would become familiar with his new employer’s face quickly. 

There were less than a hundred images posted on Andrés’ page, but that was unsurprising. He was older, and probably only used the app when he needed to do a little bit of PR for the business. Most of them were of magazines whose covers were artists Martín had become familiar with in researching the label. The text beneath the post linked the artist and focused on promoting them. He would’ve thought this was a business account, but he had already seen there was another for the label itself. He scrolled to the bottom, the pictures blurring together. 

The first post was of the new office building, promoting the address and building itself. It wasn’t the best photo, but Martín appreciated the elegance of it. He looked forward to getting to see it in person. But, before he could click on it to expand it, he was distracted by the second post. Andrés was wearing a dark jacket that was buttoned up. His arm was around Sergio’s shoulders, and they both had bright smiles as they looked at the camera. He looked genuinely relaxed and happy there, in what Martín assumed was probably the inside of their studio. The picture was a contrast to some of the other photos he had seen before. Perhaps the media really did just paint everything in a bad light. Sergio had defended him after all.  
  
It just left him wondering which version of Andrés he was going to actually meet in the morning.  
  
At some point, he was able to drift off into a peaceful sleep. He woke up the next morning to the sound of his alarm buzzing. His eyes popped open and his hand reached over to turn it off. He was ready to go, prepared to face the day. The nerves had settled down for the time being, the time and effort he had put in to get ready giving him a little peace of mind. Certainly, everything would work out just fine. There was no point in worrying until he had actually met Andrés and listened to what he had to say.  
  
For all he knew, he could flirt his way through it. It wouldn’t be the first time he had gotten through with life with his smooth tongue, and he wasn’t afraid to pull it out again if he had to.  
  
He spent a fair amount of time in the shower, enjoying the feeling of the warm water against his skin. The water hitting his face finished waking him up. The heat steamed up the bathroom window as he found himself increasingly tempted to stay in the warmth of the shower. It was his last layer of protection from anything that would come out of the day. He spent time running his hands through his hair, trying his best to make the most out of each relaxing second. But, the time all too quickly came when he knew that he was running out of time to waste. He turned off the water, and reached his hand out to grab his towel.  
  
Once dry, he started to get ready. It was made easier with the outfit already laid out for him. He still wasn’t sure that it was the best look, but something about the green sweater called out to him. It wasn’t his normal color, but he couldn’t argue that it looked good on him. It was comfortable and soft, but still looked professional enough. Sergio had approved of the look and he had to hope that would be enough for Andrés as well. He had heard time and time again how important first impressions were, and he was well aware that especially applied to this one.  
  
Once dressed, he grabbed his guitar and headed into the kitchen. He heated the kettle to make a cup of tea. While the water boiled, he reviewed some of the lyrics in his notebook. He chuckled at the thought that after nearly two weeks of review he could forget the words and notes he had spent hours reviewing. Performance issues had never happened to him before, but he knew far better artists than he had their days. He poured the tea into his mug and carefully sipped at it. “You’ll do this exceptionally,” he told himself. He chuckled at his pep talk but knew there was far worse that he could be doing with his final few minutes. 

He glanced at the clock on the stove, before he took a deep breath and picked up his guitar case. He pulled the door shut behind him and picked up his speed after he heard it clicked shut. There was still plenty of time to make it to the studio before his appointment started, but he was determined to make it there a little ahead of schedule. It was good to be punctual, but it was better to be there early. It would give him a little bit of time to acclimate to his settings and be in a little more control of his racing thoughts. 

He walked at a quick pace to his car. After he unlocked the door, he gently placed the guitar case down across the back seat. He took one final look at the elegant case. He had taken a little time to stop and get something new during the week. There was nothing obviously wrong with the old case, but it had started to get a little old and worn. He had a feeling it would have gone unnoticed to just about anyone, but not the people he was meeting with. The leather outside of the case was a shiny chestnut brown, and opened up to a rich red velvet that held the guitar. It would help tie together his overall look, and help him look a little more refined at the meeting.  
  
The benefit to having a meeting mid-morning was the commuters were no longer on the road. The drive saw mostly empty roads, which allowed him to drive at a normal pace. He was grateful for that, because the stop and go would’ve only served to make the butterflies in his stomach turn violent. His fingers tapped against the wheel to the beat of the music coming out of the radio. Normally, he was far more vocal in his drives. He would be singing along, far louder than the volume he had set on the radio. But today he knew he needed to save his voice as much as he possibly could. His tongue moved from side to side in his mouth as he hummed along as well. His eyes remained fixated on the road, streets blending together until he started to get closer to his destination.  
  
The details started to become a little clearer in his mind as he continued the drive. The buildings leading up to the studio were made of simple brick. The only thing that really seemed to change is the names and numbers he saw on the sides of the buildings. The closer he got, the more ordinary the surrounding buildings got. He would’ve imagined it to be closer to the high end stores, kept in good company with others names and labels. But, as he pulled to a stop outside his final destination he realized why the studio had been built closer to things that were a little more ordinary.  
  
Andrés clearly had a need to be what stood out in a crowd. His studio was located between brick buildings, but you would have never noticed them. Even without it being his final destination, Martín's eyes were immediately drawn to the tall, dark building. He wondered how much time the brothers had spent putting effort into coming up with the final design, but immediately knew that wasn’t quite right. Even for all their teamwork he knew had to have gone into building aspects of the business, this was not Sergio’s work. It drew far too much attention for that. Normally, it would be incredibly easy to crack a joke about compensating for something, but it didn’t come off that way.  
  
The building was perfectly clean on the exterior, and he could only imagine the care that had gone into planning the interior. The building was beautifully crafted and there was a certain level of some form of love that Martín could pick up on. The way the building shined, without a speck of visible dirt on any of the windows or exterior walls spoke to both precision and a little bit of obsession. He seldom saw this level of dedication but it was inspirational. He left his car parked in the front, and started to walk towards the entrance of the building.  
  
With guitar case held tightly in one hand, he pushed the door open gently with the other. It hadn’t been a particularly cold morning, but it was significantly warmer inside the building. Against one wall, he saw a small fire burning in a tall, beautiful fireplace. It created a sense of warmth and welcome, and he wondered if this was some sort of set up to get people who entered relaxed and comfortable. He couldn’t imagine Andrés, or most of the other people who worked here, having such warm and receptive personalities. It certainly had to be a way to lure them into a sense of security before they were further in their palm. On the sofas, there were a few people waiting with their faces buried in their phones. They had clearly fallen for that sense of comfort, but he’d be damned if he let that happen to him. 

Instead, he walked over to the receptionist desk to check in. He stopped a few small steps shy of the desk. Using his free hand, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his ID before he proceeded to the front. The brunette, curly haired receptionist continued to type away at the computer, not even so much as glancing up from the monitor to look at him. “Martín Berrote to see Andrés de Fonollosa.” He said with a smile.  
  
She continued to type, and only looked up at him for a quarter of a second. He stretched out his hand to show her his ID, and she took a quick look at that as well before returning to the computer. He hadn’t even had eye contact with her long enough to be able to say for certain what color her eyes were. “Yes, he’s expecting you in about fifteen minutes,” she replied, eyes glued on her work once more. He wondered if that was more of a testament to her or the amount of work the label put on even the lowest level employees. 

“Best to arrive early,” he replied, his lips maintaining the smile even if she wasn’t returning any of the same pleasantries. He briefly considered flirting with her, because she was certainly the type of woman other men who came through the office would have been distracted by. Her purple button up was tucked neatly into a thin black pencil skirt, but it had no effect on him and was hardly worth his effort to try and make anything out of.  
  
“Yes, well, if you will have a seat for a moment Mr. Berrote. I will be right with you to take you to the second floor.”  
  
He nodded, but decided against taking one of the empty spots on the sofa. Instead, he opted to stand against the wall next to the fire place. His eyes remained fixated on it, only glancing up for a moment when he saw another person enter the area in his peripheral vision. The woman was dressed in white pinstripe three piece suit, and greeted the other two men in the waiting room. They had immediately shoved their phones into their pockets, and quickly followed her up the stairs. Looking at them this time, Martín recognized them enough to know they were other artists already signed by the label. One of them stood out a little more than the other, with a few brown curls at the front of his head and an extremely youthful face. Martín looked at the slightly older, bald man and wondered if that was his parental chaperone. He chuckled as they left, at the realization that this was a young man’s game he was getting himself into. Regardless, he was determined to make ranks with the best of them no matter how hard he had to work.  
  
He continued to stare into the fire, the flames dancing and offering a momentary distraction. He wondered if his heart should be beating out of his chest from the rising excitement, or if he should be sweating from the nerves. Instead, he felt nothing but confidence and pride. He was ready for this. He deserved this.  
  
He heard his name, followed by the click of thin heels against the floor. He looked up to see the receptionist gesturing for him to follow her, as she started to walk towards the stairs. He did, keeping an even slow pace. He wasn’t going to start this off coming off too eager.  
  
The walk up the stairs went very quickly. The receptionist walked over to the woman who sat behind the desk on the top floor, and quickly informed her who he was. She smiled, a little more friendly than the other receptionist, and gestured to an open seat he could take in front of a small coffee table. The first receptionist quickly turned and headed back down the stairs.  
  
Martín glanced around, and from behind him could see Sergio at his desk. Propped between his shoulder and cheek, he could see an old landline phone. There was just a little glass, so apart from being able to see Sergio and the bookshelves against his wall, he could see very little else in the room. However, in front of him he could see very little inside the other room. Where Sergio had one wall half made out of glass and another out of wood, the other had two glass walls. But, they were currently blocked out by a silky looking red curtain, with only a little light coming through. Andrés clearly did not feel the need for as much privacy and had opted for a little more transparency than his brother. It gave the idea of a man with nothing to hide, but Martín was willing to wager that was far from the truth.  
  
“Mr. Berrote,” a soft voice said, and make him look up. Her blonde hair was tightly curled, and she wore a professional looking grey dress and thin black belt. She smiled at him, as she reached out to him and offered him a porcelain glass filled with coffee on top a small plate. “I am Monica Gaztambide, and if you need anything else while you wait just let me know. Sergio is just wrapping up a phone call with another client, and Mr. Fonollosa had another appointment before he met with you.”  
  
“Is Mr. Fonollosa always so formal?” He asked, as he took the glass and serving plate from her.  
  
She nodded, keeping her pleasant smile glued on her face. “He has certain expectations of his lower level staff, but it is still far better employment than my last job.”  
  
“Good to know, I am hoping this is my next job,” Martín replied, before he took a small sip of the warm coffee. They had clearly spared no expense on any aspect of the company, and that included the coffee for their guests. It was incredibly thick and rich, with a pleasant nutty fragrance that filled his senses. He held the handle between two fingers, and continued to sip slowly.  
  
Monica chuckled as she walked back over to her desk. The phone had just started to ring, which signaled it was time for her to cut the small talk. “Best of luck to you,” she replied before picking up the phone.  
  
He could only hear a few muffled noises coming from Andrés’ office, and even less coming out of Sergio’s. Instead, he sat back in his chair and enjoyed the silence. The morning had seemed to fly by, but time had gone back to seeming like it was being dragged through the mud. He didn’t mind, as he closed his eyes and continued to think about which song he would start with when asked. There was certainly a need to pick out the best of his work first and end on a high note as well.  
  
But, he found that he was unable to focus too much on that thought. Instead, his mind briefly flashed the smiling photo of Andrés across his mind. It was an alluring, honest smile that reflected a sincere level of happiness. Martín wanted to be able to bring that out during his performance, to entice such a high level of approval before his time was up. If he could get that level of approval on his first encounter, then everything else would be taken care of. There would be less pressure to be able to meet their expectations. The thought continued to fly around his head for a moment about performing so well to impress Andrés. Quickly, he shook his head, clearing his mind of the thought. That was perhaps a little too ambitious, even for him.  
  
He heard the door behind him open up, only seconds before the door in front of him did. He turned his head briefly to greet Sergio with a smile, knowing that there was a likely chance the other client would step out of the other office before Andrés. Sergio didn’t meet his eye, however, and kept his eyes glued in front of him. Martín noticed that his eyes were a little wider, and his mouth was turned down. He looked a little annoyed, as he reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. Martín turned his head back around to see a thin, tall man walking towards Monica’s desk. While he walked, he seemed to be readjusting his suit and didn’t make eye contact with anyone. Behind him, he could see Andrés. He was dressed in a velvet red coat that was a little more form fitting, while his khaki pants were styled looser. He hadn’t looked down at Martín yet, but instead wore a proud smirk as he watched the man exchange a few words with Monica before he walked out the door without looking back. The last thing Martín noticed before the man left was a little bulge in his pants pocket, just a little of the grey material from his tie showing.  
  
He quickly shot to his feet before Andrés would have a moment to give him any attention, and found Sergio at his side. His fingers were still pinching the bridge of his nose, his head shaking disapprovingly. “Andrés, meet Martín Berrote.” Sergio released the hold of his nose before he clasped Martín's shoulder gently with his hand.  
  
Andrés walked over to stand about half a foot in front of him. He smiled with what Martín could tell was well practiced and used for business. It certainly wasn’t the same smile he had seen in the photograph. He stood his hand out, and was met with Andrés’ soft one. They shook briefly, before Andrés turned and gestured towards his office. “Yes. Hello. Sergio has spoken quite highly of you and I must say you best live up to expectations.”  
  
“I assure you, I can,” Martín replied confidently as he started to step towards the open door. Andrés replied with a light chuckle, and Martín was certain he hadn’t heard anyone quite laugh like that. It was brief and controlled, but managed to replay in his mind.  
  
“Confident, I like that,” Andrés replied, his hand gently tapping Sergio’s arm as his brother walked at his side. From the corner of his eye, Martín could see Sergio turn to glare at his brother which Andrés only returned with a roll of his eyes. 

Stepping into the office, he could already see the differences between the two brothers. While he saw the large bookshelves filled with books and a couple of picture frames decorating what had seemed to be Sergio’s otherwise empty office, Andrés’ had a few nice paintings hanging on the walls in his. There was one masterfully done portrait of Andrés hanging on the wall opposite the door, and a few other small renditions of famous paintings he recognized. 

His desk was a thin, light wood with only a computer and a few files on top of it. It didn’t take him long to notice the awkward way the files were arranged on the desk, which didn’t seem to fit with the way the rest of the office was neatly put together. As he stepped closer, he noticed that the guest chairs were a little off to the side as well. He slumped into the chair, and bit his tongue to keep from commenting as the final clue of noticeable fingerprints on the edge of the desk sunk into his mind.  
  
From behind him, he could hear someone clear their throat. He looked up, as Andrés rounded his desk to sit in his chair, while Sergio took the other guest seat next to him. His eye was raised, his lips thin. Martín shrunk a little into himself. Clearly, he had gotten distracted by his realization and failed to notice that he had been spoken to.  
  
“As I was saying, we will speak with you for a moment, have you play a little for us to see the range of your talents, and if I like what I hear we will start to draw up a contract for you,” Andrés stated, in a warning tone. Martín knew that it was best to do whatever it took to ensure Andrés didn’t have to spend the entire time repeating himself.  
  
“That’s what Sergio had prepared me for,” he replied. He placed his guitar on the floor gently by his feet, and started to remove his overcoat finding himself suddenly warm under Andrés’ careful watch. 

He gently folded his jacket over the arm of his chair. Andrés looked between him in the green sweater briefly to Sergio, a look of disapproval on his face. Martín started to wonder if the agreed upon outfit had failed to be good enough after all, until Andrés spoke. “I told you to make him more presentable, not to dress him up in my old wardrobe.”  
  
Martín felt a little flustered, but also annoyed by his tone. It should be pleasing enough that Sergio had opted for something that he was more guaranteed to know Andrés would approve of than picking out something that was a gamble. It was certainly no reason to get so annoyed. “I’m sure it looks better on me than it looked on you,” he replied before he could stop himself. Instead of trying to awkwardly take it back, Martín just sat tall in his seat looking rather smug.  
  
Sergio’s eyes were wide and glued on Martín. He couldn’t look over at him, as his eyes were locked with Andrés’ dark ones. His face looked sour, and the silence seemed to speak volumes to Martín. It was enough to make him feel a little nervous, like when you watched a storm begin to roll in. He leaned in a little closer to Martín from across the desk, as if he was waiting for just the right moment to strike. Martín sat tall, and refused to shrink at the threat. 

But, in a flash Andrés’ facial expression relaxed and he smirked He leaned back into his chair. “You’re not wrong, Martín.” He smiled with a deeper, slightly longer chuckle than the last one Martín had heard. It also did not go unnoticed that this was the first time Andrés had said his name. Much like his chuckle, the way his name rolled off of Andrés’ tongue stuck with him. It came out a little softer than the rest of his tone, and each syllable was dragged out just a little longer than they needed to be. It didn’t take him long to recognize just how much he had liked hearing Andrés say his name.

Next to him, Martín could see that Sergio had relaxed a little bit. He wondered if the agent was always so tense, or if he was capable of adopting his brother’s more relaxed demeanour. “We have listened to your samples, Martín, but I know you mentioned you had been working on a small set,” Sergio finally spoke, in control of his mannerisms.  
  
Martín leaned down slightly and tapped his guitar. “I have six or seven songs that I can demonstrate for you. And another one I have started on the piano, but it is not complete yet. I could be persuaded to play a few notes, though.”  
  
“Perfect. You have come prepared, you’re not wasting my time,” Andrés replied. He rose to his feet slowly. “I think we should move this to the first floor and we can get started with seeing what it is you have to offer.”  
  
Martín took the lead, and he heard the sound of Sergio and Andrés’ footsteps come to a stop behind him. He could’ve sworn he heard Sergio chastise Andrés under his breath with something that sounded like, “do you really have no control over what you will and won’t do in the office with clients?” This time, Andrés’ laugh was more full, and was absolutely intoxicating to his ears. He had certainly never heard anything quite like it, and he hoped that in their time working together he would get to hear it more often. 

Sergio took the lead, walking down the stairs in front of Martín. From behind him, he could hear Andrés’ careful footsteps, taking his time. He could almost feel his eyes glued to the back of his head. Normally, he would have quipped something about whether or not he was enjoying the view, but Sergio had already gotten frustrated with his brother for his casual activities. He was certain it wouldn’t go over well coming from him, and he wasn’t sure how Andrés would take it. He allowed himself a proud little smirk, even though he knew there was probably another explanation for why he was watching him carefully. He was there to try and get a deal on their label, after all. 

The room to the recording studio had a real wall, instead of one inclosed by a three panel window. Martín appreciated the idea of a little privacy while they watched him and started to make their decisions. Sergio stopped at the door to pull his keys out of his pocket. He pushed open the door to expose a large room that had been divided in two. On one half, there was another door that lead into the recording room, with a glass you could see through. There was a beautiful piano in one corner, a couple of chestnut stools, a couple of symphony stands, and three microphones. In the other room, there was a wide half circle shaped desk in front of the window. On it, there were speakers, a four joined computer monitors, and two keyboards that had a variety of buttons Martín had never seen. He knew they were there to enhance the music and sometimes create a little auto tune, but he hoped his music wouldn’t need too much of that.  
  
The lighting in the recording booth was bright and left no place to hide. They would be able to see every little movement he made. But, on their side of the glass, the lighting was a little darker, mixed with a small amount of added dark blue lights. Without having to step into the booth, he knew that it would be harder for him to see what they were doing. It had to come from needing to keep their talent just the right amount of intimidated. But, he didn’t feel that way. The pressure didn’t seem to be sinking in with him now that he had met Andrés. He felt more prepared, the final weight having already been lifted off his shoulders. He was more than ready for this stage.  
  
Sergio opened up the door to the booth, and guided Martín inside. He saw Andrés take a seat in the center of the desk, before he followed Sergio inside. “Take all the time you need to get ready. All of the equipment is ready, just place it where you like. When you are ready, tell us and we will prompt you to start by turning on that red light,” he said, pointing to the light board that was just above the booth’s side of the window.  
  
Martín nodded in response, and looked directly at where he knew Andrés was sitting with a smile. He pulled the stool into the middle of the booth, placing the symphony stand to his left and the microphone to his right. He wasn’t sure why he felt the pull to place his line of vision right in front of Andrés, but he shook the thought from his head. Surely, it was no more than wanting to ensure that he didn’t see any fragment of fear in him. He pulled his guitar and notebook carefully from the case, and settled onto the stool with it propped against his leg. He flipped through a few of the pages for a moment, carefully considering which song he wanted to start with. His eyes read slowly through one of the pages, and he smiled as he kept the book open there.  
  
“I’m ready,” he said, as he picked up the guitar and carefully placed it in the right position. His eyes looked up and waited for the light to switch on.  
  
It took but a short moment for it to glow red, and he smiled as his fingers gently went to the correct strings on his guitar.  
  


_ Overtired, overworked, underpaid, under pressure  
Always tying _ _up loose ends  
_ _The unchained melody out of tune, remedy for the weekend  
_ _To cure the weekday blues  
_ _Raise my heart rate, inflate my pupils, give me something  
_ _Just to smoothen off the edge  
_ _Call me dumb, call me scum, call me plain and simple  
_ _As I'm holding on for this_

He remembered coming home and writing this song after a particularly long week at work. It had all gotten a little too mundane for him, and it left him itching and longing for something more. There was always more excitement when you reached for a little bit of risk in the unknown, but he rarely allowed himself to do that. It had lead him to having enough money to scrape by instead of having to worrying, but he had always wanted a life made up of more. With a cheap bottle of wine in one hand and a pen in the other, he had managed to get the lyrics down within a couple of hours.  
  
_ No power, working zero hour  
__Making some cunt rich  
__You will never understand what it's like down here  
__I raise my beer_

He blushed a little as ‘_cunt__ rich’ _ rolled off his tongue, but he smiled through it. Perhaps it hadn’t been the best idea to start with a song that would serve to insult just a little. The thought rolled back out of his head, as he added a little shrug before he continued the song. That was the way of the world, after all. There was always someone working down to the bone while someone else reaped all of the profit.  
  
On the other side of the glass, Sergio sat tall in his seat, eyes set on Martín and focused. He made little notes on the computer from time to time fully engaged in the demonstration. Andrés glanced over at him, shaking his head at just how hard his brother was working. He had leaned back in his seat, just listening to the music with his fingers folded over his chest. Thus far, he had seen little that had disappointed him. It was a little easier to trust things Sergio recommended, and he had been prepared for an easy afternoon of work. 

  
His lips tugged into a tight smile at the delivery of ‘ _ making some cunt rich _ ’ followed by the light blush that showed on Martín's cheeks. It was why he had worked to build his own business from the ground up. He had had his share of working for other people at a young age, and was determined not to be one of them. Through the glass, he looked Martín in the eyes just as the singer continued the song confidently. A weaker man would have been a little more embarrassed, and he liked that: just enough modesty to not get on his nerves, but enough prowess that it didn’t bore him either.  
  
He rolled his head lazily to look at Sergio. “Relax,” he said, “enjoy the music, stop working so hard.”  
  
Sergio squeezed his eyes shut, trying to drown out his brother’s voice. “It is my job. It is _ your _ job--”  
  
“That we are both good at. There’s little to be done here, and you know that.” He moved his head to focus on Martín once more. His left hand stayed planted on his chest, while his right hand started to sway gently to the music. “Some work to get him ready for a broader audience, but he has it in him.” 

”Right. He has the talent,” Sergio replied, side-eyeing his brother. “Granted that he doesn’t get distracted.” 

Andrés shrugged, continuing to sway his hand. “I just explore other talents.” Without needing to look at Sergio’s face, he could picture the frustration pent up. “But I want to focus on his music.” He added after a moment’s pause, putting just the right amount of emphasis to get Sergio to focus on work once more. It was a little too fun to ruffle his brother’s feathers from time to time. 

The song came to an end, and Sergio leaned forward slightly to press the interconnected speaker. “Good start, Martín. Take a moment and we will get started on the next song.” He clicked the speaker back off as he sat back in his chair. 


	5. The Label

Martín ended his fourth song on a little riff. The song hadn’t called for it, but he had been overcome with the sudden need to show off just a little bit more than usual. He smiled down at his fingers moving over the strings, before he came to a slow stop. He rested the guitar against his leg, and took a moment to stretch his fingers. Each song he performed was quickly followed by one or two comments from Sergio, then it was back to playing the next one he selected. It had all started to get a little tedious, as he had hoped there would be a little more interaction. The wait for a stronger opinion had started to weigh on him, and had left him just a little tired. 

“The showing off is unnecessary,” Andrés’ low voice came over the speaker and sent a small shiver down his spine. He hadn’t heard anything from him since he had entered the studio, and was taken slightly off guard to discover that he was still there on the other side of the window. 

He considered apologizing, but decided against it. There was nothing to actually apologize for, and he certainly didn’t feel sorry. “You wanted to see my skills,” he reminded him, with a little laugh. “Just showing you what all there is.” 

He was met with silence once again. It couldn’t have been that bad of a response, or he probably would have been yelled at. Perhaps Sergio was keeping Andrés at bay, but something told Martín that wasn’t it. He could almost hear that same faint chuckle from earlier, and see the light upturn of Andrés’ lips as he smiled. Somehow he just knew that was what was happening on the other side of the window. 

He stood up slowly, careful not to drop his guitar too hard on the floor. He walked over to the piano in the corner, a hint of uncertainty in his pace. It seemed like a welcome break from playing another one of his songs for a moment. He may not have the lyrics to the next song, but he could at least highlight that he was competent with the piano. As he reached it, he gently ran his hand over the lid. The wood was smooth, but cold. He wondered just how many of their other artists used it. It was far nicer than his chipped piano at his flat, but he was excited to put his fingers on the keys. He pulled out the bench, and took a seat in the middle. He carefully picked up the lid and ensured that it wouldn’t fall back down and crush his fingers. He nodded at the window with a wide smile. “This isn’t complete,” was all he said as he started to play. 

His fingers slowly danced over the keys, eyes closed as he tried to picture the notes. There was too much uncertainty to need his notebook, but it would’ve been a nice comfort to grab. There was no point in walking back over, though. If they didn’t like it, he could just trash it. Or, they might be able to give him some pointers of things they thought would improve it. He hummed along to the melody, driven and focused as he continued to play. 

Andrés watched him as he carefully pulled back the lid to the piano keys. It was gentle and almost intimate, and he appreciated the particular care that Martín took with the instrument. Very few had been willing to try their hand on his piano, able to recognize just how expensive the equipment was. The few who had looked at it, he had ensured were heavily discouraged. As he listened to the notes, he sat up and took a few notes of things to improve on. Martín’s primary instrument was his guitar, which he was clearly more than comfortable with, but there were some improvements needed with the piano. That would be one of the first things he wanted him to work on. 

He could sense Sergio looking at him as he finished typing some of his notes. “I don’t know why you insist on looking at me, I am just doing my job,” he mimicked. “Don’t you have a job to do?” 

“You rarely show this much interest so quickly. I’m just pleased I was right.” 

“I’ve told you, you need a little more confidence in your work,” he said, his voice ringing with jest. He finished his typing, and quickly read over the note to ensure he hadn’t forgotten anything. Then, he rose from his chair and walked towards the door of the studio. He pulled it open quietly, and walked through. He closed it, barely making a sound before he leaned against the door and continued to watch Martín.

Things weren’t perfect, but he was pleased with where they were. Perfection was boring and wouldn’t allow him to mold any new artist to fit his ideals, anyway. He watched as Martín started to take more and more pauses, uncertain of where he wanted the direction of the song to go or end. He opened his blue eyes and looked puzzled at the keys, but still didn’t notice Andrés standing in the room observing him. He would test a note, mumble about how he didn’t like it, and then continue to test another. 

“It needs work,” Andrés finally spoke up, rubbing his hand over his chin. “But that’s enough for now.” Martín’s head shot up, his voice more clear and distinct now that he was in the same room. 

“I did say it’s not complete,” his voice said, with just a hint of a challenge in his tone. He was protective of his work, and Andrés respected that. 

“Yes, well there will be time to work on that.” He replied. He pointed to the guitar case, and continued, “We have enough, so I will leave you with Sergio to go over some contract details.” He turned around, and went back through the door in one swift movement. He left the door open to Martín and headed back to his office to work on his next appointment. 

Martín placed the lid back down on the keys, slowly to make sure he did not accidentally slam it shut. It closed with just a light thud, and he stood up and walked back over to pick up his guitar. He lowered it into the case and adjusted it into place. After he closed and locked it, he picked it back up and headed out the door. Sergio locked the display monitors, and picked some papers up off the printer. He nodded at him, waiting patiently for him to finish. 

“Good work, Martín,” Sergio said, as he gathered the things he needed. “Follow me to my office, and we can go over some of the technicalities.” He placed the small handful of documents into a long folder, and held it pressed against his chest. Martín opened the first door for him and followed him back out of the room. 

“But not my best work. I could have finished that bit on the piano,” he argued. There was some harsh judgement that had dripped with Andrés’ tone, but it should have been anticipated. He had not completed the work before he decided to give them a sample, and that had clearly been the wrong move. Though, he could just as easily argue that Andrés not stress so much about his time being wasted after with one short sample. They had asked to see what he could do, after all. 

“It’s all part of the process,” Sergio replied, as he turned to walk up the stairs. “We have people to write and finish songs for you when you can’t.” 

“He doesn’t have a lot of patience for the process, does he?” Martín asked, uncertainty riddled in his voice. He certainly didn’t intend for it to sound like it was coming from a place of irritation or judgment, but simply general curiosity about how to avoid irritating his future employer. 

Sergio glanced at him from the corner of his eye for brief moment. There appeared to be something he was carefully weighing in his mind. Each word he spoke seemed more calculated than the last to Martín, but this was something different. He seemed very intent on keeping whatever the truth was to himself, while providing Martín with some satisfactory response. He kept the feeling of impending doom away as they reached the second floor. If Andrés hadn’t liked him, Martín had the feeling he would’ve had no issue saying so. Whatever was being kept from him had to be something that wasn’t worth worrying about. 

“I did warn you,” Sergio said. He smiled as he opened the door to his office and gestured for Martín to step inside. He walked around to his chair after Martín had taken his seat. 

“Yes, very particular,” Martín replied, a cocky smile growing on his face even though his brain couldn’t quite match it. “But, he didn’t throw me out so I’d assume that I met his expectations.” 

Sergio chuckled, nodding softly in response. “We liked you. We are ready to proceed to the next steps but it requires a lot of hard work and dedication from your end, and agreeing to listen to what we have to say. You have to trust we know this process, and you have to be willing to meet our expectations at a moment’s notice.” He typed quickly on his keyboard, before rotating the monitor for Martín’s view. “These are our notes on your demos. I’ll print copies for you to take and review.” 

Martín nodded, eyes quickly glancing over some of the notes. There would be more time to study them in depth once he got back home. It was a relief to see there didn’t seem to be that many, and he wondered how often that happened. The logical part of his brain wanted to argue that anyone who made it this far had to have semi-competence, but his ego wanted to swell and let himself think he was one of few. “I will,” he agreed. 

“Then, there is the matter of your contract and our expectations.” Sergio clicked print on the first window, before proceeding to another. “You are welcome to hire a lawyer to review the terms with you, but that will be done on your own expense. You’re already aware that we want you to have a certain image,” he said, scrolling at an even pace through the relevant pages, “we will own a percentage of your songs, and you will be expected not to have contact with any other recording companies to pursue other offers after you sign. You can still spend time trying to find someone else,” he added, as he continued to scroll. “And there is some information detailing how we will proceed in promoting your career.” He finished, as he sent the second document to print. 

“What is required to start promoting?” 

“Well, that is different between how you got started. We have a few overnight sensations on our record, and a couple that came with bigger followings than you have. Gigging artists are always a little trickier, because there isn’t as much ground work,” he explained. 

Martín nodded, understanding that there were some advantages the younger generations had with all of the technology at their disposal. He wasn’t old by any means, but he was far from having an internet presence for his music. He knew part of building his music career would involve building a name for himself online. He didn’t look forward to that aspect most of all. Though, he decided, that probably wasn’t the worst compliant to have. All in all, it wasn’t a bad start to the building a relationship with the label and he was ready to spend the evening celebrating with his friends. Work could wait until Monday. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to embrace his full excitement, if he was doing it somewhere far away from the studio where they couldn’t hear his cries of joy. 

“I’ll set another appointment to meet with you in a week. That should be enough for you to go over the documents. We will try to avoid making this take years for you, but it will still take a few months.” The caution in his voice didn’t lower any of the excitement in Martín. He had respect for the process and the patience to do what it took. Sergio stood, and gathered the documents into a folder for him. “In the meantime, if you have any questions for me you know how to get into contact.” He carefully handed Martín the folder, a cheery smile across his face. “How are you feeling, Martín?” 

“Excited,” he replied, as he stood to shake Sergio’s hand. “I don’t think it has all started to settle in yet, but I’m sure it will.” He took the folder and placed it under his arm, mindful not to fold anything. He picked up his guitar, and followed Sergio out to Monica’s desk to set up their next appointment. 

The door to Andrés’ office was shut, curtains drawn to keep wandering eyes from seeing what was going on inside. He stared at it longer than he should have, thinking about the man he had just met. For someone with such a reputation of being demanding, arrogant, and in general, an asshole, he had failed to see anything that really supported that. He was short and to the point, but Martín preferred that. Thus far, his expectations had been far lower and less suffocating that Martín had built up in his head. He wondered if it came in later, or if people failed to give him enough credit. 

He was snapped out of his thoughts by Monica’s soft voice, trying to reconfirm the date and time with him. He looked to his side, but Sergio had already turned to his office and was back to work. He smiled at her and gave a quick nod. She offered him a small card with the information for the next appointment on it, which he quickly stuffed into his pants pocket. He added a thank you, before he turned to head back out the door.


	6. An Unexpected Attendee

Martín rested his head against the window, looking out as the city rushed by. The previous showcase two weeks ago had fallen at a better time, earlier on a Saturday afternoon, and he had had plenty of time to rest from a week of work before he had to go and perform. This one was after a long day of extra work he had to get done before the start of the weekend. He had spent most of the week putting in extra office hours trying to get ahead, but there never seemed to be enough time. It kept him from being able to get any extra hours of sleep either. The entire day he had felt the weight of the heavy bags under his eyes, but Sergio had insisted they could deal with those with a little bit of makeup. He had scoffed at the idea at first, but knew that he had a point. He couldn’t look like he had just been hit by a bus for a performance. There would be too many cameras with too many nit picky social media influencers and he couldn’t let too few hours of sleep be the thing that was holding him back.

“Take a moment to rest, Martín,” Sergio asked, not looking up from his phone. “There should be some caffeine at the venue, otherwise we can send out for some.” He tucked his phone back into his pocket, before he pulled out some papers from his briefcase. If they never stopped working, Martín knew he had to keep working as well.

Sergio had opted for a suit that still looked a little more dated than the one Martín wore. Still, it was a better look than he had the previous few times they had met, and it made Martín feel better about his own. He had to admit for being forced to wear it, he didn’t mind this outfit so much. The jacket had been tailored to fit him well, and he liked the dark blue material. Still, it felt a little more restrictive than he wanted it to be. Though, at the very least, he could use the way he looked to his advantage. That was already saying more than what they had forced him to wear at the last showcase.

“Can’t mess up my hair by falling asleep,” he muttered, his eyelids slowing falling regardless of his attempts to try to keep them open. He noticed his tone was sourer than he intended, but didn’t take any steps to remedy it. He just had to be grateful it was Sergio and not Andrés who had heard his complaint.

“We can fix that later, too,” Sergio replied, and Martín was grateful he had chosen not to make it worse. “You’re right in the middle, and then there will be a few people to introduce you to at the after party. Should be done no later than one in the morning.”  
  
Martín focused back out the window, and started to go over the list of songs he had prepared for the evening. Sergio had told him before the first showcase that it was better to come up with one set list he could use for the first handful of performances until people had gotten familiar with his music. It would help familiarize the lyrics and leave them able to sing along. It was also simply easier to promote a handful of songs and people would get tired of having to keep track of so many new ones so soon. In a couple of months, he would grow a bit more of a following and they would be anxiously awaiting his latest release.

They came to a stop in front of one of Madrid’s nicer ballrooms. The record company had rented it out for the night and carefully selected who they sent invitations to. Martín had glanced at the price for the tickets when he had stopped by the studio a few days ago to pick up his suit. He had to take a double take at the number, but he was hardly surprised that there were people willing to pay the price to attend. Drinks and food were included with the price, and it offered them exposure the same way it did for the artists. These parties were prestigious and he had been a little afraid of making a fool out of himself at the last one.

Perhaps it wasn’t the worst thing to be forced to wear whatever the label picked out for him.

The valet came around to open his and Sergio’s doors, and they stepped out to a flash of cameras. The light blinded him, but his practiced smile found its way to his face. He waved at some of the cameras, and pointed at some of the others. He tried to ignore the look of disapproval on Sergio’s face at some of his stances, but there was nothing that said he couldn’t reflect a little of his personality in the photos that he took. Sergio guided him inside after a few minutes, and directed him behind stage.

They walked past about thirty circular tables, carefully arranged to give the audience the best view of the stage possible. Sergio’s table would be front and center, with only a few other people allowed to sit with him. He would be able to observe and take notes about the other artists from there, but Martín knew part of it came from his need for privacy while he worked. They stopped at his table for a moment so he could make sure things were organized exactly as he liked them. Everything always had to be down to the smallest of details for Sergio.

“I’ll take you backstage to the waiting area, and if you need anything there will be a few people backstage who can get it for you. Be patient with them, there never seems to be enough help for some of the more demanding performers,” he said, slightly annoyed.

Martín nodded, knowing that there could be a few divas. He had tried to meet some people at the last performance, but they had overlooked him when Sergio wasn’t around. He didn’t particularly care, but he knew better than to give Sergio another reason to feel extra stress. Besides, everyone was simply trying to work hard to do their job, and they couldn’t help if it took them some time to get back to you. “There will be someone who can deal with my face, right? I’d rather not go out there looking so terribly,” he asked, rubbing at the bags under his eyes. “Have to look the part.”  
  
Sergio nodded, as he directed them towards the stage. It was a lower stage in a deeper space. This helped to facilitate a couple of group acts that needed a little more space. But, he would be front and center, once again all on his own. They had considered looking for a few other band members to join him, but they had yet to pursue it. There was no rush to find anyone to accompany him in the background music, and it wasn’t really needed for his image. He was grateful for that, as he didn’t want to go through getting used to sharing his music. It left too much possibility for it to be turned down before the record even heard it, which wasn’t worth it to Martín. Sergio’s opinion was good enough for him.

“Now, we don’t want a repeat of last time,” Sergio cautioned, as he led Martín to a series of rooms behind the stage.

Martín chuckled. It had been all too tempting to sneak an extra shirt in his guitar case, and he had put it on when he was left alone. The stage director had come to look for him, and found that the door was still locked to Martín’s room. She had pounded impatiently, running out of time before he would come out on the stage late. At the last moment, Martín had decided to play by the rules but found there were a few too many wrinkles in the button-up shirt he had discarded on the ground. He knew that had left him on thin ice, but at least he had made it out dressed like their puppet. “Of course not, Sergio,” he replied in agreement, throwing in a playful salute for good measure.

Sergio led him to one of the middle rooms. The door had a whiteboard tacked onto it, a marker attached by a string. Sergio quickly wrote Martín’s name on the board, before he led him inside. It was a small room without much space, but at least he didn’t have to share with anyone else. There was a vanity with a stylist’s chair in front of it, a small fridge, and a sofa he could while he waited before and after his performances. “I’ll come back here when all of the performances are done, so just come back here when yours in finished.” He said, before he excused himself to go back to the main hall.

The next hour or so went by quickly, even though it offered very little for him to do. It took less than thirty minutes to put on some makeup to aid the bags under his eyes and bring out a little color in his face. He had thanked the makeup artist before he shut the door to his room upon her exit. He had settled back on the sofa, and listened to the opening acts as they put on their performances. He was impressed by the first act, who had at least three performers. Their drummer was stellar and probably his favorite part of the performance. The lead singer struggled to deliver on one of her final notes, and he wondered if that came from fright or inexperience. He made a note to find the band after the show and pay them a compliment.

The second act didn’t quite suit his taste, but they put on an entertaining show. Catchy pop tunes were never anything that he had found worth listening to, but it was often the easiest genre of music to get into. The crowd was singing along with all of their songs. It left him longing for that kind of reaction once he became well known. He could imagine how thrilling it must feel to have masses of people who all knew every single one of your lyrics and could join in with the performance. It was a unique type of energy that couldn’t be matched by anything else.

By their fourth song, there was a knock on his door. He walked over to open it and found the stage director outside. “You’re on in fifteen,” he said, as he started to walk down the hall. “If you’ll follow me,” he said over his shoulder. Martín stayed a few steps behind him as they walked to the waiting area.

There were a few red cushioned chairs for the performers to sit on while they waited. Martín took his seat, and stretched his legs out while he waited for the performance to wrap up. There would be a quick five minute break between acts while the stage crew got everything set up for him. That was definitely one benefit to all of this. He hated having to worry about whether or not he was situated in the best spot for the acoustics, while also making sure that even people in the far back would be able to spot him. A tap on his shoulder called him back to attention, as one of the workers got his attention. He stood, ready to walk out once his name was called.

He took a deep breath as the curtains opened for him to step out. His guitar was sat in front of the wooden stool, and he reached down to pick it up. He got comfortable before he started to play a few opening notes. The crowd looked back at him, and he could see a few of them typing away on their phones without looking at them, and a few others holding cameras waiting to record. There were a handful of professional photographers with their cameras ready, positioned in order to get a number of angles of the performances. He smiled directly at one to his right, and started to turn the random notes into the opening of his first song. He leaned a little closer to the microphone as the words started to flow freely. He had never been too fond of this song, but Sergio had insisted on having it for his set list. It hadn’t grown on him any time he tried to practice it, but he had agreed to keep performing it anyway.

_Is the dirt that you're made, you're made of  
_ _And that’s nothing to feaR_

_No, it’s nothing my dear_

He glanced down at the front center table, ready to smile at Sergio as he continued to play. Instead, he found someone unexpectedly in the middle seat. He felt his throat go a little dry as his eyes locked with Andrés’. His hair was relaxed with light, almost fluffy, curls. He wore a green vest over a white button up with a solid black tie. The ambient lighting of the room looked good with what he was wearing. He was surprised to see him there. Sergio had told him before the first showcase that he and a few of the lower level talent agents were the ones who ran these events for the new talent. Andrés and the more experienced agents were often too busy with the high profile clients to attend. But, here he was, front and center for Martín’s performance. He wondered how long he had been there and how long he intended to stay. His heart skipped a beat in his chest which he quickly tried to remedy. He thought back to when he read the contract and how angry he had been about being forced to let them play dress up with him.

But it didn’t work. Andrés was too distracting when he looked like that, and he almost thought he saw him flash him a quick smile.

_Oh fever to the form  
Won't you hear me at your door  
Singing give me some more  
'Cause you were never empty  
And we've been here before  
Yes, we've been here before_

The crowd applauded him as he brought the song to its end. He tried to focus on his remaining songs, but found his eyes kept darting back to the same spot Andrés was sitting at. Somewhere between his second and third song, he realized that the place had been taken by Sergio. He blinked, trying to make sure his eyes were looking at his manager and not the owner of the record label. He felt a sudden sadness start to sweep over him. He wondered for a moment if he had imagined Andrés being there, because there was no longer any trace of him.  
  
It seemed a little ridiculous to picture him being there. After all, they had only met once, the first time Martín had gone into the studio. He had tried to spot him once or twice after that, but he had also taken to avoiding him. He wasn’t sure he trusted himself not to voice complaints about the dress code clause. There was absolutely no reason for what he had thought he had seen. He shook the thought from his head and finished his performance. He stood, and took a bow as the crowd clapped for him. He pressed his hand to his lips and blew out a kiss, before he turned and headed backstage once again.  
  
He went and laid on the sofa in his room while he waited for the other performances to wrap up. His mind had been playing tricks on him due to his exhaustion, and it felt like a good time to take a long nap. He hoped that it wouldn’t mess up his outfit or hair too much, but he was a little too tired to worry about the consequences. Surely everyone was going to look a little rough after a long night of performances and it would be a little less noticeable. He closed his eyes, and tried to fall into a peaceful slumber. But, he found his mind was too distracted with other thoughts.  
  
He wondered just how long Andrés had been there, _if _he had really ever been there at all. Didn’t that speak to a poor performance if he had taken the time to come across the city to attend, only to leave in the middle of his set? He couldn’t stand to think about that. It made far more sense his little crush had gotten the better of him. After all, he had been told all sorts of tricks to make sure stage fright didn’t ruin a performance.  
  
By the time Sergio came to get him for the meet and greet, he found himself incredibly groggy. He tried his best to carry himself well, but only seemed capable of falling short. He tripped over his words, forgot people’s names, and failed to carry a convincing smile. One of the waiters brought him a cup of coffee, but that only helped make up a small fraction of the difference. The details of the rest of the evening blurred together, until he found himself at the back of the car with Sergio once more.  
  
The thought came into his mind to ask if Andrés had made an appearance at the show, but he didn’t want to come off as delusional or too full of himself by asking. Instead, he rested his head on his shoulder, eyes closed but still alert. “I’ll get more sleep before the next showcase,” he promised, fully intent on making sure he was in a better state for meet and greets the next time they came up. He wanted to be able to enjoy the lavish parties and get to know some of the other artists, just as much as he wanted to make sure he was making a good impression on the artists.

“Good to hear, Martín,” Sergio replied. “I’ll see you a week from Wednesday at the studio. We will have you record your songs and release them as an EP for the major music apps.”  
  
“I look forward to it,” Martín said as they came to a stop outside of his apartment. He opened the car door, and bid goodnight to Sergio.

\--

By the time the following Wednesday rolled around, Martín found himself feeling a little unprepared for the recording. He had woken up with an ache in his stomach, and rolled over on his side in his bed. He pulled the duvet over his head, tempted to call and cancel. That wouldn’t go over well and could cause significant delay, but part of him didn’t care. He knew that releasing his music for streaming was the final step in stage one of Sergio’s plan for him. They would go back and continue some of the same patterns, but if there wasn’t a positive response to the release it would all go out the door. This part was the least out of his control and he didn’t care for it. Still, everything had gone off without a problem this far and he trusted Sergio to know what he was doing.  
  
The good thing about having to jump through all the hoops with the process was that a little over a month had gone by already. According to the last line of the wardrobe clause of his contract stated he was not able to repeat the same outfit at the studio or any events until a month had gone by. This meant he could pull out the green sweater, which was still his favorite approved outfit. It was comfortable and felt like it matched his personal style the most. There was nothing they could say about him picking that outfit. That made him feel just enough control to get prepared to leave, as he pushed back the duvet and headed toward the shower.  
  
The weather had started to warm up in Madrid, so the black jacket didn’t feel necessary. There was a chance the green sweater alone wouldn’t be approved, but he simply shrugged it off thinking about it as he headed out the door. He was on his own for transportation to the studio, but that gave him time to pump himself up. He sang along to one of the songs on the radio, careful not to strain his voice too much.

He parked his car in what he had started to feel had become his spot. Every time he arrived at the studio, it was always open and waiting for him. He had started to equate it with a little bit of luck and superstitious, and never strayed from parking there. He locked up, grateful he didn’t have to carry his guitar up the stairs to the second floor. Sergio had one of their assistants purchase him another guitar to keep at the studio, that they were also responsible for taking around to the different venues for showcases. He left the one he had purchased at home, which saved him having to lug it around. It also gave it a chance to have a little bit of rest from the years of use he had put into it. The new one had a beautiful, fresh coat of paint and tied together a better image than the old one could have anyway.  
  
He nodded at the ground level secretary as he headed up the stairs. He had gained enough familiarity to be able to see himself to the recording studios, which was nice because he tried to avoid interacting with Alison as much as possible. Monica was more pleasant, and always greeted him with a smile when he saw her. She would take the time to make small talk with him when they were both unoccupied with other work, and he looked forward to their exchanges. He often wondered how she was upstairs, though. She seemed far too kind to be working directly for Andrés. He tried not to underestimate her abilities, and could only imagine what she was truly capable of if she was in such a position of trust over Alison.  
  
Sergio had assigned him to studio 2, which was at the other end of the hall from the first time he had come in and performed for them. The door was unlocked, but all of the lights were off. He fumbled his hand around on the wall for a moment to be able to find the switch before he stepped inside. The room was identical to the previous studio, only it was mirrored accordingly in position. He shut the door behind him, and stepped into the booth to start preparing. His guitar was waiting for him on a table, alongside a couple bottles of water and hard candies to keep his throat from getting too dry. There was a note from Sergio to get started on his vocal warm-ups, and he would be with him within fifteen minutes of his agreed arrival time. Martín set a timer using his phone, and proceeded to follow his instructions.  
  
Once he felt his vocal cords were adequately warmed up, he settled on the center stool to prepare his guitar. He started by tuning it, before he started to play a few simple notes. There wasn’t much to be done to prepare at this point. He knew the songs and had his notebook in case he needed to fill in the gaps of anything he forgot. He continued to play anyway, because there wasn’t much else to do and he knew it would be better to do what Sergio asked of him.  
  
“Good work, Martín,” a voice said over the speaker. He snapped his head up, and saw Andrés looking back at him from the other side of the glass. He smiled wide out of his control, and continued to move his fingers across the strings of his guitar, but his eyes never left Andrés. It was the first time they were not denying that they were face to face, and Martín couldn’t bring himself to look anywhere else. He was dressed in a dark suit, with a black tie with small white polka dots. His hair was carefully greased down, with only a few tight curls at the very front. The outfit was more of Martín’s style, and it suited Andrés very well.  
  
He came to a natural stopping point, and put the guitar down gently. He walked out of the door to the recording booth and back into the main room. From the moment he opened the door, he could smell a mixture of grapefruit, black pepper, and lemongrass. The longer he waited in the room, he picked up on woody after scents with a good blend of spices. He tried not to let it distract him too much. “Sergio didn’t tell me you’d be coming down today,” he finally said, unsure of where else to start.  
  
Andrés simply replied with a thin smile, looking him up and down. “If he had, I imagine you would have opted to dress better. Picked something new,” he said, his voice darker than it needed to be.  
  
“I followed the instructions in my contract, it’s been a month,” Martín defended, crossing his arms over his chest. He wasn’t going to let himself be intimidated by anyone, especially not Andrés.  
  
“It defeats the purpose of a surprise drop in if anyone, even Sergio, knows about them,” Andrés replied, with a light chuckle as he reverted back to the original question for a moment. “The outfit still suits you, but I gather that you are unhappy about some of the other choices?”  
  
“I don’t like being anyone’s doll,” Martín replied with a shrug. “It took some getting used to, but there aren’t any other complaints with the contract. It’s all fair otherwise.”  
  
Andrés’ smile grew, and Martín could see the look of approval reflected in his features. He wasn’t certain he had seen him look relaxed in photographs or during their last meeting. It was a pleasant change in their normal exchange. “Your suit at the last showcase looked very nice on you, for what it’s worth,_” _he said, the last word hanging between them as a sort of challenge. Martín debated rising up to that level, but knew he probably shouldn’t antagonize his boss too much on what was only their second meeting. “You put on an excellent performance.”  
  
The second compliment weighed heavily on his mind, and it dawned on him that Andrés had seen his outfit in person and not just in photographs. He hadn’t been imagining things when he had looked into the crowd and saw him sitting there in the center seat. He swallowed the lump that had grown in his throat before he found his ability to speak confidently again. “You left early, missed one hell of a party.”  
  
“I saw what I came there to see,” he replied, his eyes never leaving Martín’s. If he hadn’t known better, he would’ve thought there was a look of lust in his eyes, some unspoken meaning behind his words. But, that had to be Martín’s own thoughts more than anything else. And, even if it was, he knew better than to have a quick hook up with Andrés. He couldn’t imagine that would end well for his career. Even if it didn’t threaten his career, he knew there was no way Sergio would approve of that behavior and he didn’t like the idea of being assigned to a different agent.  
  
“You didn’t stay for the full performance,” Martín noted, as he gave Andrés a disappointed pout.  
  
Andrés’ face relaxed further, his smile growing to reveal his pearly white teeth. His face lit up with a little color. “I get very little time for events of lower importance. But, the harder you work, the more prestigious events you’ll get to attend.” He took a step closer, and glanced over Martín once more. “Though, if you agree to wear something more formal, there is a private event next weekend. You would have to be on your best behavior,” he finished with a smirk.  
  
The temptation to be snarky was dancing around Martín’s head, the words hanging on the tip of his tongue. But, the sensible part of his brain was in enough control not to get the invite revoked. “I’m _always_ on my best behavior, unless instructed otherwise,” he said, matching Andrés’ smirk, his eyebrow slightly raised.  
  
There was no denying the heat between them in that moment, even though it all came from something carnal. It would be all too easy to act on it, Martín thought. But, his saving grace from making any reckless decisions was Sergio picking that moment to walk through the door. “Martín, Andrés,” he said, a hint of warning as he spoke his brother’s name. Andrés kept his ground, ignoring him. “Let’s get to work, shall we?” Sergio spoke again, his voice more forceful. Andrés took a step back, and as he moved to take a seat in one of the chairs.  
  
“Yes, time to get to work Martín. Keep proving your value to my company,” he said, as he gestured for Martín to step back inside the studio. Martín followed the command, as he stepped around Sergio without looking him in the eye. There was some kind of guilt for being caught in a moment with Andrés, if only for his great level of esteem he had for Sergio. Best to quickly jump back into work and forget that anything else had happened on the other side of the door.  
  
He walked in, mind set on getting the recording done once more. He was grateful that the lights had gone darker on the other side of the window. He could no longer pinpoint the exact spot where Andrés sat, which made it easier for him to focus on the work he needed to get done. He started to play, completely focused once again on his work.


	7. The Vineyard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FOUR WEEKS TO SEASON 4!

The rest of the recording had gone very well. It had taken the better part of four hours to get everything done exactly the way they needed it, but Sergio had reminded him several times over the speaker that it was normal. He stood up, and twisted from side to side trying to get rid of the stiffness in his back. Sitting for hours on end with few breaks had left him feeling rather cramped and he was grateful when it was finally over. He walked over to the table and threw a couple of the candies in his mouth, before he chased them down with a swig of water. His throat felt dry and hoarse, and he knew it would be a day or two before he was back to normal. Still, he was left with a feeling of accomplishment that overpowered how tired he felt. 

The light came on in the other room, and he saw Andrés still sitting there. He watched him carefully, but his face was blank. It spoke enough that he had stayed for so long, or had left and decided to come back. But, as Martín opened the door to the recording booth, Andrés opened the main door and headed back up to his office. Martín barely saw a glimpse of his back as he walked out the narrowly opened door. Sergio had stepped over to the table in the main room, and held a long bottle in his hands. He gently popped open the wine bottle, careful not to spill. 

“It is tradition to have a drink after your first recording is finished,” he said, as he picked up a glass from the table. He poured the first glass for Martín, and handed it to him before he poured one for himself. The white wine sparkled in the glass, and he could tell by the look of the bottle and the aroma that it was better and more expensive than anything he had ever purchased before. They toasted their glasses gently, before he took a sip. 

“Does he usually stay for the entire recording?” Martín asked, his head turned to look at the door once more. He couldn’t manage to stay focused on anything else going on around him anymore. 

“When he feels like it,” Sergio said with a tired sigh. “But no, not often,” he added hesitantly. Sergio quickly finished his drink before pouring himself another as Martín turned to look at him. His face lit up with a smirk, but he decided against pushing the matter any further. After all, he had made a decision not to pursue something physical out of respect for his agent and he intended to keep it that way. There was no guarantee that a little flirting would turn into anything, but the heightened potential and any attempts would, without a doubt, cost him his manager.  
  
“There’s an event next weekend that Andrés mentioned,” Martín started, as he continued to sip at his wine. It was wonderful and he knew if he didn’t take his time, he would get far too drunk to drive himself home quickly. “Would it be possible to have an outfit arranged for me? I have what was already sent over, but they won’t be up to standard.” 

‘_No harm in looking good, was there?_’ He thought to himself.  
  
But Sergio just seemed pleased that they were no longer arguing about that part of his contract. He smiled at Martín, as he held up one finger. He nodded, and placed his wine glass down on the table. He pulled out his phone from his pocket, and sent a quick message. “It’ll be taken care of.” He finished, before he tucked his phone away once again. “That event would be good for you. The bigger names will be there and we can try to find you someone to pair with for a tour date or two. We might be able to discuss a collaboration project too. That would help promote your release.” 

Martín finished his drink, listening intently to Sergio’s plans for the event. At that moment, none of those plans really mattered to him. He would do what he was asked and be polite to whoever Sergio wanted him to meet with, but he could only think about seeing Andrés there. Even without his attraction, he enjoyed being in the same room and talking to him. Andrés was still shrouded in mystery as only small pieces of his personality had come out around him. He wanted to see what Andrés was like around some of the other artists so he had a better understanding of where he stood. 

He glanced over at the closed door once more as he slowly finished his final sips of wine. “I look forward to it,” Martín finally replied, as he stepped forward to shake Sergio’s hand. 

They said their goodbyes, and Martín slowly opened the door ready to leave. He slowed his pace as he reached the stairs, and found himself looking at the steps that would take him to the top floor. He quickly turned to leave as he heard the door to the recording studio close as Sergio headed out of the room. 

He would see Andrés again soon enough, he just had to be patient. 

\-------

As they drove through a wide, black metal gate, Martín’s eyes opened in surprise. The car bumped slightly as it drove up the circular gravel path that lead to a small sized mansion. The large brick building in front of him was far from what he had expected, and he cursed himself for not taking the time to research the location of the venue. The large house was just in front of a small hill, looking over some of the countryside. To his left as he exited the car, a thick wall made of rose bushes surrounded the grape vines, an elegant white picket fence planted firmly in the middle to create an opening. The flowers had started to bud, but had not quite bloomed, with the early spring. But, he could easily picture the full beauty of it when it all came into season.

The house itself was surrounded by a large patio, and he could hear the noise of the party coming from around the corner. He turned his head as he walked, talking in all of his surroundings. Several others passed him at a much faster pace, but he couldn’t help but to soak it all in. The light grey cobblestone of the patio and the warm orange of the house paired well together. It spoke volumes about Andrés’ eccentric taste and inability to keep his ego in any sort of check. However, it was the first time Martín felt he had seen such extravagance, and he couldn’t fault him for wanting to do his best to impress. He could only imagine the great masses that Andrés had to entertain as part of running his company.

As he rounded the corner, the patio stretched out in the back to offer enough room for about ten circular tables. They were covered with white lace, and a variety of centerpieces. He glanced down at his suit, doubtful for just a moment that he had come dressed for such an occasion. The women were dressed in a variety of evening gowns and shawls for warmth, while the men were dressed in suits that were similar to his. But, it was still enough to make him feel a little out of place. They all seemed to carry themselves in the name brand attire far better than he did. Every step he took was calculated, well thought out and well executed. He couldn’t grasp how they moved around so freely without wrinkling their clothes.

Servers dressed in black suits and ties whisked by him, holding large silver with small hors d'oeuvres. It gave him a head rush as he watched them all go by. He knew there was a chance that he would make it as large as some of the other artists here this evening, but he had never thought about that possibility for too long. He felt like he could see all of their eyes narrow as he passed them, making his way to the table that had his name card on it. His legs had started to wobble, and the comfort of being able to sit down was extremely welcoming. He leaned back in the plush seat, and motioned for one of the waiters to bring him a drink.

Without straining his neck, he glanced around the rest of the name cards he could read at his table. His shoulders relaxed as he exhaled, relieved to see that Sergio would be sat to his left. From his spot, he could only read the surname on the name card to the left of Sergio’s: _ Murillo. _ He reached over, and leaned it backwards just enough to read the first name. _ Raquel Murillo. _ He glanced over to the name card on his right, which had another _ Anibal Cortes. _ Neither were names he recognized in association with the label. That made him feel a little more comfortable.  
  
“Hello, Martín,” a familiar voice said. Sergio, never the one to fit in, was dressed in a simpler suit. The grey fabric had black elbow patches on the jacket, and he knew that it would have come off the clearance rack at the end of season. Still, he was more confident than Martín with these people. 

He took note of that. If Sergio could work much harder on his job, on a much bigger scale, with all of these important people, so could he. He sat taller in his seat, as he reached out to shake Sergio’s hand.  
  
“The vineyard is amazing,” he said, as he found himself looking around at his surroundings once more. 

“It’s a little much,” Sergio replied with his signature small smile.  
  
Martín chuckled, and nodded softly in response. “Andrés has extravagant tastes.”  
  
“He only owns a few shares in this vineyard, but it is the only one he owns equipped to hold this many people. Ever the artist, my brother.”  
  
“Ever the posh showoff, your brother,” another voice quipped. A woman dressed in a stylish black dress moved to take Sergio’s side. She wrapped her arms around one of his, as she leaned against his side. Sergio smiled at her as she settled, and chuckled softly at her joke. Martín didn’t see what was so funny about it. 

“Martín, this is my girlfriend, Raquel. You’ll have to forgive her, she and Andrés aren’t always on the best of terms.”  
  
“We’d be on better terms if he wanted to be,” she replied, shaking her head with a soft smile. 

“It doesn’t stop you from coming to my parties,” Andrés’ voice rang from behind Martín, as he came to stop at his side. He gently rested his palm on Martín’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take Martín around to meet some of the other guests for a moment.”  
  
Martín bit his tongue, overjoyed at the prospect of being shown around by Andrés instead of Sergio. Without waiting for anyone’s permission, he gently tugged Martín towards a group of well dressed guests that he recognized to an extent. He hadn’t heard much of their music on the radio, but he knew he had seen them at the recording studio, or at some of the other events. They were the only ones who were truly being social, as most of the other guests had taken seats and were talking amongst themselves quietly there. He supposed most of that came from the generational gap--the other artist looked several years his junior, while the other agents for the record looked much closer to his age. There was something to be said in the faith Sergio and Andrés had in his abilities while they disregarded his age. 

“These are some of our best artists. The smaller ones haven’t earned their place at these types of events. When they show me your kind of passion, they’ll work their way up,” Andrés said, as they continued the short walk across the patio. “It’s why you’re here, because you’ve impressed me. You’ll go far, Martín.” 

The compliment was hushed, and in such a low whisper that Martín wasn’t certain he had actually heard it. Surely the buzz of the party and one drink would be enough for him to start to imagine Andrés saying such nice things. He looked over at Andrés’, his mouth slightly hanging open. His lip seemed to curl upward, and Martín could see him looking at him through the corner of his eyes. 

“Tatiana. Luka. Mercedes. Alison. Ariadna. Rio. Juan,” Andrés said, gesturing his hand to each of them. “This is Martín. He’ll be joining some of you on tour soon, whenever Sergio finalizes the details. Play nice,” he said, as he turned on his heel. 

Emptiness washed over Martín as he looked over his shoulder at Andrés’ retreating figure. He was once again stood with Raquel and Sergio, looking far more comfortable than he had been just moments before. It was then he realized that the other artists had ceased their conversation, waiting until he was fully out of ear shot.  
  
“I saw your last show, Martín. I knew you’d be a favorite,” Tatiana said with a smile. Her eyes were covered by.designer sunglasses, dressed down compared to some of the other guests. Still, she seemed to command the air around her, and Martín knew why. She was the biggest name on the label. Everyone else was held to her standards, and they knew it even if it had never been said to their faces. 

Martín nodded, giving her a small grin in return. He couldn’t help but look over his shoulder once more, to where Andrés stayed focused on his conversation with Sergio. “Don’t worry about Andrés being so cold, he’s just a little shy,” she added, grabbing Martín’s attention. That didn’t fit the Andrés he knew, and something in her tone made him want to jump to correct her. 

“It’s not that,” the youngest of the group spoke up. The boy with curly hair was the young man he had seen in the waiting area at the studio a few weeks ago. They had started at the same time, and seemed to have moved up the ranks together. “He’s just an ass,” Anibal finished, tactlessly, as he took another large swig of his drink. 

“He’s too good for the likes of us,” Mercedes added with a shrug. “We make him money, he invites us to his parties, and we keep our distance.” 

“He’s showed up to my last showcase,” Martín said, his words faster than he would’ve liked. He was too quick to jump to Andrés’ defense when these were the people he should be making partnerships with. The conversation seemed to float to a stop once more, everyone’s eyes narrowed on him. 

Even Tatiana had lifted her sunglasses to look at him. Her eyes were still open, but her lips were pursed tightly. She looked him up and down, seemingly taking in his full measure and making assessments in her head. “I told you, you’re the shiny new favorite,” she finally replied, cheerfully. 

Martín inhaled, trying to keep himself from saying anything he would regret. He wanted to argue that there was something more to it than simply being Andrés’ current favorite, but he couldn’t. For all he knew, she was right and there wasn’t anything more to it. He could be reading into things he wanted to be there. 

The conversation seemed to pick up normally after a few seconds, but he just smiled, not really participating in it. It hadn’t taken them long to show their true colors, and he wasn’t going to give them anything about himself to throw in his face. Better not to be an active participant, and think about how good it made him feel like Andrés was coming to his events, regardless of what it meant. 

  
  
  



	8. La guitarra de Paco de Lucia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And, we are slowly getting closer to some solid Berlermo content.

It had been nearly two hours since Andrés had left the party. He had disappeared in thin air, the rest of the attendees failing to notice his absence. They were all too wrapped up in their own huddled conversations. Sergio’s attention was focused on Raquel, which left Martín far too free to his own devices. He didn’t care for the conversations he had earlier, and breaking into the middle of the conversation between the happy couple had gotten boring. He excused himself from the table, and headed into the mansion under the excuse that he needed to use the toilet.  
  
One of the waiters had directed him, but the moment they had headed back outside to the party, Martín turned and walked into the other direction. Within a few minutes, he found himself in the middle of the large reception room. The vaulted ceiling felt like they could reach up to the heavens, and left him feeling rather small. Along the walls, there were beautiful paintings of different landscapes. He wouldn’t know the first thing about art to know if they were any good to an art critic, but it didn’t stop him from admiring them the best he could. 

He slowly made his way deeper into the house. There were three halls, including the one he had just made his way down. He glanced down the remaining two, and ended up with the one on his left. There were a few wooden doors which looked like they had been crafted centuries ago. For anyone else, it would have been far too antique to come close to the thin line between ancient and chic. Still, it all seemed to match Andrés’ flair that he had seen so far. Some part of him could imagine Andrés coming to the vineyard for the first time. He would've looked over every brick, around every corner, at every single minute detail, slowly and delicately. 

But Martín had a strong feeling that it hadn’t taken Andrés long to decide that he had wanted to possess some part of something so beautiful. 

And it was beautiful. He wished more than anything that he could feel a steadier sense of belonging inside it’s walls. But, this was far from his world, even with the start of his music career. Bottles of wine had rarely cost him and Denver more than fifteen euros, and that was when they had felt like splurging. The brass doorknobs were probably three times as much, and their sole purpose was to _ open _a door to let people inside. He didn’t want to think too hard about the price tag on any of the other items inside. 

At the end of the hall, there was a large room with two wooden doors. Unlike the others, they were curved into an arch, and one of them was cracked open. He smiled, as he carefully placed one hand on the door and gently pushed it open. It wasn’t as invasive if he went into a room that was unlocked, after all. He hadn’t invited himself inside to do whatever he pleased. The room had invited him in by not being sealed shut, and it would be rude to turn down such an invitation. After he made it through, he slowly closed it once more, careful not to make too much noise. The door creaked slightly, but it wasn’t loud enough to make it down the hallway. He closed it to as close as he could to the original place, and took in the room. 

There were walls of bookshelves, some with books and others with old vinyls. They were all carefully arranged by size and color, and flowed beautifully in the room. He walked over to one of the shelves, and started to finger through the vinyls slowly. The collection was expansive, consisting of multiple types of genres. He was certain most of it wasn’t what Andrés would willingly choose to listen to, but more of a way to show off his ability to get his hands on anything he wanted. _ The Beatles White Album _A0000001 was among these, and Martín slowly started to pull it out from the shelf to get a better look at it. 

It was then that he felt two soft hands, landing in almost the same positions on his arms. He inhaled sharply at the gentle hold, as an exhale gently tickled the back of his neck. He froze in place, and didn’t need to turn to see him to know that Andrés had caught him in what was probably his private library. He debated trying to come up with an excuse for why he had allowed himself in that room. He considered quickly apologizing and hoped that if he begged enough it would be enough for Andrés’ forgiveness. But, he knew neither of those things would be enough on their own, and probably wouldn’t pair well together. 

Only, he felt Andrés pull him a little closer, as his hands reached around to take the record from his hands and put it back on the shelf. He was all too aware of how dangerously close Andrés’ lips were to his ear. He felt the vibration from his warm chuckle, as his hands slowly moved back onto his arms after he had put the record back in it’s spot. “Martín, did no one tell you not to touch things that don’t belong to you?” He teased. 

“Perhaps if your party had been more entertaining, I wouldn’t have had the need to entertain myself,” he replied, through shaky breath. 

He wanted so hard to come off calm and collected, but Andrés’ hold on him never relinquished. His whole body was shaking more than a leaf in the breeze, and it was almost enough to make his teeth start to chatter. Still, if Andrés had been truly angry it wouldn’t have been so tender and intimate. Though he had yet to see it, he was certain that Andrés turned into a destructive storm when he was furious and Martín prayed a little every day that he never had to be on the receiving end of it. So, that was at least one benefit to the situation he found himself in now. 

The laugh that escaped Andrés was deep, and made him fall forward a little more against Martín’s back. He could feel the soft vibrations of his chest, and wanted to stay in that moment forever. Andrés’ hands gently slid down his arms, before they released him and pulled away. His brain felt like it was on fire from the moment they had started to move slower, only to have it quickly put out when they were no longer there. He didn’t have long to miss them, however, before Andrés’ right thumb and pointer finger were on his wrist, gently turning him around to face him. There was no more than a foot between them, and that was still entirely too much space for Martín.  
  
“That would be why I left. I feel like these are best for my image, for making my people happy. But, they have never been the kind of company I like to keep for too long.” 

He tugged on Martín’s wrist gently, and pulled him towards one corner of the office. He stopped in front of a beautiful painting that hung on the wall. He had seen beautiful pictures of the Florence cathedral before, but this one was probably his favorite. The colors were well blended, and the lines looked well defined. But, that was about the best he could describe the work. He was certain Andrés could go off in depth about the strokes, significance of the angles, and other things that would go far over his head. He looked up, trying to come off as pensive. 

“What do you think, Martín?” he asked, leaning closer to him so their shoulders were gently touching. He pointed to some of the finer details, and just as Martín suspected, started to explain things that flew right over his head.  
  
“It’s beautiful,” he replied, trying to keep his answer simple. “Where did you get it?” He asked. Maybe if he kept Andrés talking, he would be less likely to see just how much Martín didn’t fit into his world. This was the most interaction they had ever had, and he wanted to drag it out as long as he possibly could. If he humiliated himself, it would also be the last chance he got. 

He gestured slowly to the signature in the bottom right corner. Martín quickly identified the thin cursive as Andrés’ name. “I painted it several years ago when I was in Florence. Arnolfo di Cambio designed one of the most beautiful cathedrals in the world, and I had to immortalize a piece of it for my own. But,” he said with a shrug, “no one had it the way I wanted. If you want something done right, do it yourself.” 

It was incredibly more impressive to learn that Andrés had painted it himself and felt Martín feel even more out of place. He nodded along, listening to some of the other things Andrés was saying but still unable to comprehend most of it. He glanced around the area, and saw a few photographs on the walls. 

He recognized a photograph of a much younger looking Andrés standing to a thinner Sergio; another with Sergio, Raquel, and a small child latched onto Raquel’s hip; and a third with a few artists he had met at the party. Looking closer, he noticed a man having a toast with Andrés at the vineyard. He recognized him almost instantly. 

“Paco de Lucia,” he whispered, as he stepped closer to the wall to take a better look at the photograph. It took only seconds to realize just how much he missed standing shoulder to shoulder with Andrés. It was a simple touch, but he craved to have it once more. 

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to step backwards from the photograph. He was too mesmerized, his mouth opened slightly in shock. Part of him knew he shouldn’t be so surprised that Andrés knew such influential musicians, but it just further put up another boundary between the two of them. 

“I knew him, for a brief period of time,” Andrés replied, the weight of his words not matching his tone. Martín wanted to turn around and grasp him by the shoulders, and shake him until he understood how big of a deal it actually was. But there was nothing he could say to Andrés that would make him accept that. He may not be an influential musician himself, but he held a lot of weight in the music world. It almost made him just as untouchable. 

A sinking feeling started to settle in Martín’s gut. He had felt comfortable being alone with Andrés only moments before, but that feeling had run away like it was trying to escape a burning building. He wanted to turn and leave the room as quickly as he could, but his legs felt like dead weight. He couldn’t turn away from the picture frame, and he felt a tightness in his chest if he looked at it for too long. He started to breathe, short and heavily. 

It was then that he felt a soft tap on his shoulder, and he slowly forced himself to turn and look at Andrés. Andrés slowly tilted his head towards the door. “Come Martín,” he said. Andrés looked at him like a master calling his dog to heel. It was almost completely degrading, but the serious look in Andrés’ eyes told him not to question it. He could either do as he was told, or their interaction would be over then and there. He put one foot forward, sheepishly. Andrés chuckled, almost tauntingly, as he gestured with his left index finger for Martín to follow him. 

Andrés led him down the hall, not turning back once to ensure Martín was still following him. Martín was certain he knew exactly how much control he had surrendered to him. He tried not to think about how he was another number in the long list of people Andrés could bend to his will with one look or command. The churning in his stomach hadn’t ceased, and thinking about anything else would only make him double over and release the contents of his stomach all over the floor. 

He wasn’t quite sure how long they had been walking when Andrés reached the outside of a different room. He slowly removed a key from his pocket, and carefully unlocked the door. Once they were both inside, he locked the door behind them. Martín noticed the large king bed in the center of the room, with a plush white chair in the corner, a dresser, and a couple other little items. He wasn’t entirely sure what had led them to this moment, and his heart started pounding in his head as he tried to get an idea of what would happen next. Andrés still didn’t turn to look at him, but instead gestured for him to sit. He obeyed, and watched as Andrés stepped into the small walk-in closet. 

He tapped his fingers nervously on his knees, unable to simply sit still. It was then that Andrés returned, his hands holding onto a large guitar case like it was a newborn child. He smiled at Martín as he placed it down carefully on the bed. “This was a gift, from Paco before he died,” he said, as he unclipped the case. One had positioned itself at the bottom of the guitar, while the other wrapped carefully around the neck. 

Martín blinked slowly as he watched Andrés pull the red guitar out of his case. Near the bottom, he could read Paco’s signature clearly. His eyes widened as Andrés took a step towards him, and handed off the guitar to Martín. He looked between the guitar and Andrés, tempted to shove it back at him. How could he trust him, a _ nobody _, so much with something as precious as this? 

Instead, he pulled it closer to his body, clutching it as if the slightest movement would send it crashing onto the floor to shatter like glass. He slowly closed his eyes, but kept the guitar close to him. Never, in any of his wildest fantasies, would he have imagined holding the instrument of someone so gifted and inspirational. 

He pictured briefly how it must have been to have known Paco. He wondered just how close they had been, considering they were quite a few years apart in age. He tried not to think about how much harder it would have hit Andrés to lose him, if they were as close of friends as they seemed. He slowly opened his eyes, and noticed that Andrés had his back to him as he fished through one of the drawers of his dresser. “You aren’t going to watch my every move while I hold this?” He said, unable to stop the question from rolling quickly off his tongue. 

That was enough to make Andrés laugh, which Martín had started to realize made his heart skip a beat no matter how many times he heard it. He glanced over his shoulder at Martín, as he pulled a bottle of wine and two glasses out of the drawer. “Do you need my constant supervision, Martín? I had expected better of you.” He turned his head once more, and slowly poured the drinks. It was almost as if he was daring Martín to do something, anything that would disappoint him. 

Instead, Martín smiled down at the guitar, and tried to do something that would be more unexpected. He started to play a few notes with the guitar, and hummed along as he tapped his foot softly on the ground. That was enough for Andrés to turn back around, with two half full glasses of wine in one hand, and the bottle in another. He sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes locked on Martín. 

After a few minutes of silence, Martín stood and carefully placed the guitar back in its case. His eyes locked with Andrés’, who seemed to watch and analyze his every move. Without needing to be told, Martín took one of the wine glasses from his hand and took his seat once more. Andrés gently lifted his, offering a silent toast. Martín mimicked the action. Neither took their gaze from the other, as if daring the other to speak first. They could hear indistinct chatter from the guests outside, set to classical music played by the band. But, everything around them seemed to only continue to move slower.

\--

Sergio glanced down at his watch, and noted the time. He looked quickly back up at Raquel, and tapped at his watch. The sun had started to set on the horizon, and a few of the guests had already started to depart early. It wasn’t like Andrés to allow his guests to leave without saying a few parting words. He glanced around quickly, and noted that it had been a few hours since he had last seen Martín as well. His shoulders slumped as he shook his head. “They better not... he better... Andrés,” he muttered, tripping over his words as he looked up at Raquel. 

“He’s a lot of things, but Andrés knows to be on his best behavior tonight. This was an important event,” she replied. She gently placed her hand over his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. He nodded, and stood up slowly. He pushed in his chair, and calmly walked into the house. If Raquel could give Andrés the benefit of the doubt, so could he. 

That didn’t stop his first instinct to check Andrés’ room for them before anywhere else. He wanted to have the same faith in his brother, but there was only so much Andrés could do to fight against his nature. It was a perfectly framed excuse that Sergio far too often had to feed himself, but there was very little he could do to change anything. 

But the sound of laughter broke him from his thoughts. The noise certainly wasn’t what he expected, and he quickened his pace no longer reserved and worried about what would be on the other side of the door. He stood outside for a moment, unable to follow the context of the conversation. But, his ears picked up on the continuous flow of laughter he identified coming from Andrés. 

He smiled, tempted to step back and let the night continue on. Guests be damned. 

Unfortunately, Sergio knew better than that. Slowly, he lifted his fist to softly knock on the door. The conversation immediately ceased, as if he had frightened two deer in the woods. “Andrés, the party is coming to an end. You need to say goodnight to your guests.”  
  
Only a few short moments later, he heard footsteps on the other side. Andrés shot him a dirty glare as he walked out of the bedroom, and towards the party outside. Sergio, however, paid him little attention. His focus went straight to Martín, who had yet to get up from his seat. Instead, there was a light blush to his cheeks as he watched Andrés leave the room. 

When he noticed Sergio looking at him, his eyes immediately looked at the wine glass in his hand. “It was a good party,” he said, as he got to his feet. 

“I imagine you had a better night with less company,” Sergio said, a small grin on his face. “Some of those artists can be rather hard to get anything from. Still, they’ll work nicely with you if I tell them to. Tonight won’t have been a total loss.” 

“No, it wasn’t,” Martín replied, as he looked up at the ceiling, his face a brighter red than before.


	9. The Gala

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I do say so myself, we have reached the wonderful pining part of this story....and it only picks up from here.

Martín propped himself against the edge of the counter, trying his best to focus on the work in front of him. For the better part of the last two weeks, he had been completely preoccupied with other things, and now he had a mountain of grading to get through by seven o’clock the next morning. He tapped the bottom of the pen against his chin, as he tried to concentrate on the exam in front of him. Even though he had written the exam himself, and had graded several others, the answers seemed to evade him. He wondered if it would be so bad to give students credit for the wrong thing. They probably wouldn’t mind getting a better grade, and some of them desperately needed the extra push. But, it wouldn’t give them the study material they needed for the last exam.

He sighed as he lightly chewed on the bottom of the pen. He was quickly running out of time before he would have to sprint out the door. Though, his sprint would be more of a quick walk because he knew he couldn’t get any sweat on the nice Armani suit he had to wear that evening. It was why he was currently straining his back, legs, and neck while he tried to grade the exams at an angle. He couldn’t start off the night with sweat stains and wrinkles. 

It had taken far too long for Sergio to call him after the event at the vineyard. The rest of their night had dragged on, after Sergio and Martín had followed a few yards behind Andrés back outside. The guests gathered back at their tables as Andrés stood at the front to say his final words. “I appreciate your work. Tour dates have been set and several of you have sold out shows. It will be an excellent summer and another big one in our books.” His eyes scanned the crowd, before he turned towards Martín. His smile grew, ever so slightly as their gaze locked on each other. Martín felt his chest tighten as Andrés looked at him, and wanted nothing more than to go back to a more private setting. “Some of you have proved your worth.” He finished, as he settled the microphone back on the stand. “Enjoy the end of the party and travel safely.” 

He turned and walked back inside without another word. It took every ounce of self control Martín had not to follow him. He leaned forward, with his hand rested on his chin. His lips turned down as he watched Andrés disappear. There was too much uncertainty in when they would get another moment together, _ if _ they would even get another moment alone together. He could feel Sergio studying him, keeping track of his every moment and facial expression as if it would tell him everything he wanted to know. There was too much risk following Andrés, and he knew it. But, there was no denying they had connected and he wanted to chase more of that. 

As he started to head out, following some of the other guests towards the awaiting taxis, he noticed that Sergio was still watching him. He had to look over twice, because the glances were subtle. Most of the time, Sergio’s attention was focused on Raquel or settling the cheque with the catering staff. Still, in just the right moment, Sergio’s head would be turned towards him. He wanted to shrivel in his place, because he knew that it had been a little too much. He _ knew _it would create problems for him if his manager saw him alone in a room with Andrés. 

His second instinct was to march over and remind Sergio that there was nothing in his contract about relationships. He was free to talk to whoever he wanted, even if it was the CEO of the label company. 

Even if that same CEO was his manager’s brother. Instead, he headed towards the taxis. He might be able to have a few more bold words around Sergio, but there was something about Raquel that made him feel like she wouldn’t have stood for it. There would be more time to discuss this, or Andrés would move onto some other distraction. 

After nearly two weeks without word from the label, Martín had started to worry. His mind was clouded, unable to get anything done at work. He had taken the long way home, trying to clear his mind. The sun painted the sky in bold mixes of orange and yellow as it dipped under the horizon. Martín unlocked the door to his apartment, and settled in on the sofa. He kicked his feet up, and looked for something to clear his head. He flicked through his phone, but none of his previous distractions tempted him. The same contact name continued to stick out to him, bolder than all the rest. He finally pressed down, and held the phone a few inches away from his ear. 

“Hello,” he said, as he heard someone pick up the phone on the other end of the line. He could picture Andrés in his office, as he finished the final things he needed to do for the day. His trademark smirk spread across his face, as he relaxed at the end of a long work day. 

Only, he was met with inevitable disappointment when he recognized the voice on the other end. “Hello, Martín. I’ve been meaning to call you.” Martín picked up on the hint of raspiness in his voice, a few octaves lower than normal. “I have an event for you on Sunday, if it’s not too short notice.” 

He knew better than to turn it down, even if he wasn’t sure he would feel ready in three days. “I see I wasn’t the first choice,” he teased, trying to make light of the situation. It might be a little extra stress to prepare a set in that amount of time, but it would get him out of the cycle he had sunk into at work. 

There was nothing but silence on the other end of the phone, and he wondered if he’d crossed the line a little too much with Sergio. The possibility he hadn’t been called yet because Sergio didn’t want to deal with him after he had disappeared in the vineyard, only to be found tipsy with Andrés, seemed completely certain. The situation hadn’t been overly compromising, but he was certain that didn’t mean much to him. “Sergio, I’ll be ready,” he added. “I have an outfit I can wear already and I’ll be waiting outside on time.”

“Yes. That sounds perfect Martín.” There was another moment of silence until, “Phone seems to be acting up so I’ll let you go and text you further details.” The phone call ended as quickly as it had begun, but he couldn’t help but note the annoyance in his voice. Martín made a note to go to great lengths to repair his business relationship with his manager. The sooner it was all water under the bridge, the sooner he could get back on track with his career. 

Which had led him to trying to finish his work for the university as quickly as possible, while he waited for the text that Sergio was outside waiting. He managed to focus on the work once more and smiled as he continued to go through the motions. His grading speed started to pick up, and he quickly finished the last of the large stack. He stood up, and stretched his arms over his head. 

His heart stopped as he noticed the display screen on his phone lit up. He had missed two phone calls and a number of messages. His eyes went wide as he noticed the first had come in around ten minutes ago. He grabbed his phone and the suit jacket, and headed down the stairs as quickly as he could. He hadn’t wanted to come across frantic, but there was nothing he could do about that now. Outside, there was black car parked in front of his building. The engine was still running, with all of the windows still up. He took a moment to slow his breathing, and slid the jacket on over his arms. He opened the door, and quickly took his seat. 

The moment the door was closed, he could feel the car pull away from the curb. While he settled in the seat, he quickly apologized. “I’m sorry Sergio. I didn’t mean to miss your messages. I had a few things to finish.” He turned his head to look at him, only to bite down hard on his tongue. 

“Shit, Andrés,” he said, as his eyes opened wide. He tried to shake his initial shock and focus again. “Where’s Sergio?”  
  
He wanted to kick himself the moment the words escaped his lips. He had wanted to see him ever since they had parted ways, but never thought it would be like this. Why would Andrés escort him instead of Sergio? More importantly, Martín scolded himself, why did he care so much instead of being grateful? Especially when Andrés looked like _ that. _The suit was well tailored, and displayed his toned arm muscles more than Martín had noticed before. The light grey suit looked great on him, and highlighted several of his other features. But, here he was with his main concern being why Sergio had sent Andrés instead. He wanted to put his head through the window. 

Without looking up from his phone, Andrés replied, “Sergio is apparently sick and unable to escort you tonight. I didn’t think anyone else would bring in enough money presenting you, so I decided I’d do it myself. But, you’ll have to do some of it on your own. I’ll have to be running back and forth between watching you and talking to clients.” 

He should have been better prepared for Andrés to slip back under his businessman persona, but he would’ve been lying if he didn’t admit it crushed him ever so slightly. Still, he had chosen to let his guard down around Martín at the vineyard, even with all of his guests on the other side of the door enjoying the party. He would take what he could get, no matter what. He sat upright, stiff and as professional as he could. Andrés continued to type away on his phone, almost seemingly determined to not even look at him through the corner of his eye. But, he refused to let that bother him too much.

As the car came to a stop outside the venue, Martín watched as Andrés carefully tucked his phone back into his suit pocket. For the first time, he looked in Martín's direction, but not at him. He seemed to be determined to look past him, as if he was trying to gauge what was waiting on the other side of the door. Martín wrapped his fingers around the doorknob, ready to get out of the car and out of Andrés' way. It was unsurprising that he would be so ready to get out and begin the work he needed to do for the evening, and Martín couldn’t blame him for that.

Just as he felt the door start to release, he noticed Andrés lean closer to him. His chest was almost completely pressed against his shoulder, the closest they had been since the library. Only, this time his body felt more prepared for the contact. Instead of going as limp as it had before, he instinctively fell backwards, ever so gently, against him. He could feel the heat of Andrés' breath against his cheek, and he longed to turn and close the distance between them.

“They’ll open the door for you, Martín,” he heard Andrés say, and the words snapped him back into reality.

His first instinct had proven correct and he felt his shoulders slump slightly in response. His ears rang with the sound of Denver’s laughter as he thought about what his friend would do when he told him how carried away he had allowed himself to get. The door opened, and he fell forward out of it. He caught himself before he tumbled completely, but felt the blush rise in his cheeks regardless. The camera flash blinded him, and he stumbled forward trying to quickly make his way through the glass doors.

Instead, he felt the gentle tap of two fingers on his wrist. He stopped, and turned to look at Andrés. He simply shook his head, and directed Martín towards a group of photographers. Martín nodded, and put on his best smile. He twisted and turned, giving them the best angles he could. _ Exposure. _It’s all about getting the right exposure. It drove him to continue to take picture after picture, even though he was certain that they would have five hundred identical pictures of him.

He glanced over at Andrés, and smiled as he started to walk over to his side. The idea hit him and propelled his actions before he was really aware just what he was doing. He wrapped his arm around his back, and pulled him against his side for the next set of pictures. Andrés' instinctively lifted his chin, and smiled at the closest photographer. “I see you’re learning a thing or two about getting the most out of my name,” he whispered to Martín, between gritted teeth.  
  
“No, just thought two attractive men would make a better cover photo than just one,” he replied. He had intended the words to come off more flirtatious, but his eyes reflected his deep sincerity.  
  
Andrés looked at him, almost puzzled. It went away as quickly as it came, but the look was stuck in Martín's mind. He took a step back, and his showman smile returned to his face. “You’re not wrong,” he replied, before he quickly headed up the stairs to the venue. He pulled out his phone, and it became clear to everyone that he was done taking any more photos for the current portion of the evening.

Martín watched him, distracted by his brief and uncharacteristic exit. The cameras continued to snap a few pictures of him, until the next car rolled up behind theirs. He heard a few cheers and shouts for _ Tatiana, _ but his feet remained frozen in place. He wasn’t certain it was possible for Andrés to seem insecure or even so much as uncertain, but there was no other way to describe that look.  
  
With the attention no longer on him, he walked up the stairs. His eyes glanced around the room, but Andrés had vanished. The venue was more relaxed than the vineyard had been. He shuddered as he walked past the photo prop booths the influencers had all gathered around. He wasn’t scheduled to perform for another hour, but nothing appealed to him. He started to look for his access backstage when a hand delicately grasped his shoulder.  
  
He turned around to see Tatiana smiling at him. Her hair had been curled for the evening, and framed her face. She had on a cream floral shirt and tight dark jeans. He had to admit he was jealous of her ability to pick out whatever she wanted to wear. “The famous Tatiana,” he said, returning her smile. “It’s an honor to see you again.”  
  
She kept her thin smile as she moved to let him kiss her cheek. “Our amatuer, Martín,” she replied, her eyes taking in every detail of his suit. “Though, you are still working your way up quickly.”  
  
“Well, I have been playing music for a long time. New to this scene, but not new to music,” he replied defensively. His fingers tapped on his leg, trying to reduce some of the tension. This was far longer than they had spoken at the party, and something about her still put him on edge. 

“Yes, of course I didn’t mean to insult you,” she replied, still maintaining her smile. “After all, we will probably start working together soon. You’re quite talented and Andrés will have Sergio put you on a collab project with me.”  
  
He gave her a small nod, trying to return her smile. “If Sergio thinks it’ll help my career, I look forward to it.”  
  
“Are you headed backstage? You ought to come and have a drink with me while you wait. I have been trying to get in touch with Andrés to arrange a meeting but he hasn’t responded to a single one of my messages. He’s busy this evening of course, but he usually comes when I call.”  
  
Martín's eyes narrowed at that comment. He had longed to get a little more of Andrés' time himself, but he would never talk about him like he was some sort of pet to be summoned. He was certain Tatiana probably didn’t talk about him like that around him or Sergio, but her saying it behind his back didn’t sit well with him either. He had done more than enough for all of his employees to earn more respect than people showed him. He stepped closer to Tatiana, but then refrained. He fought his instinct to defend him outright. Andrés was more than capable of taking care of himself, and he knew it wouldn’t be good for him to create issues with the record’s biggest artist. 

Instead, he looked down at her with a gentle smile. “I’m sure that Andrés will eventually find some time for you. He made time to escort me here.” He saw her eyes darken, as he lip curled. He didn’t wait around to hear what she’d respond and took the long way backstage.  
  
“Who does she think she is?” He muttered to himself as he slammed the door to the dressing room. Luckily the groups he was sharing the room with were not there at the moment. He had some space to him for a moment, which was exactly what he needed to work out some of his anger. 

He knew she was exactly aware of who she was, though. She was fully aware that no one quite reached her numbers on the charts, and exactly how much money she brought in. Her entitlement to Andrés' time and to have a piece of every up-and-coming artist rattled him.  
  
“No surprise I upset him,” he said, as he continued to pace around the small room. Andrés was his name. From the very beginning, it had been clear to Martín that Andrés was incredibly proud of how much weight his name carried. He should be proud of that, he had worked hard to build his company from nothing. He spent endless hours trying to turn his name and image into something marketable, so he could turn around and promote others trying to make a name for themselves. He wouldn’t think that it would be so taxing for someone like Andrés as it would for other people.  
  
But then he remembered the look on his face after Martín defended taking photos with him outside the venue. Even if he bounced back quickly, Andrés clearly had his reservations about how and when his influence was used. He wanted to apologize for overstepping his boundaries, but that wouldn’t go over any better. He’d simply make a note to do better in the future. 

As he walked out to the stage to start his performance, he started to worry about spending most of his free time grumbling under his breath about Tatiana. He had paced back and forth in the room, as he had tried to calm his nerves. As he was ushered out the door, he had decided to start with a song he hadn’t played in months. He couldn’t get the words out of his head no matter how hard he tried, even though he knew it was a risky move. As he set his left foot on the small stool, the guitar carefully draped over his knee, he wondered one last time if it was going to be a mistake. 

“I haven’t played this song in a while, but I think you will enjoy it tonight,” he said, as he pressed two fingers to his lips. He blew a kiss to the crowd, followed by a smirk.  
_  
_ _ You were alone left out in the cold  
__Clinging to the ruin of your broken home  
__Too lost and hurting to carry your load  
__We all need someone to hold_

Before he knew it, he was searching the crowd. Andrés was in one corner, talking quietly with a small group of people. He tapped the guitar gently, before he focused on the song once more. Even with Andrés' back turned to him, he couldn’t take his gaze anywhere else. 

_ Can you keep me close? Can you love me most?  
You’ve _ _drunk it down and now you've spat it out  
_ _Nothing tastes like the things you had_

_So tear it off, why don't you let them go?  
_ _We all need someone to stay  
_ _We all need someone to stay_

Somewhere in those words, he noticed Andrés had slowly turned and devoted his attention to the stage. He looked more relaxed than he had in the car, as his head slowly nodded along to Martín's words. Even from across the room, their eyes locked on each other. Martín blushed, and looked down trying to hide it. Even from a distance, he was certain Andrés could tell how flustered he had become. He glanced up slightly, just enough to see the thin smile spread across Andrés' face. 

By the time he finished his set, Andrés had disappeared in the crowd once more. He had to admit he was disappointed that he had lost sight of him somewhere in his performance, but knew he had least done his best for the evening. He carried his belongings off the stage and headed back to his dressing room.  
  
“Excellent Martín,” Tatian’s voice called out to him softly, as she stepped out of her room. The same practiced, thin smile on her face. “Keep up the practice and you’ll be on your way to working with the best of us in no time,” she added.  
  
He stopped in his tracks, and rolled his eyes. “I must be very close if they have you performing at these events as well,” he retorted.  
  
He could see the irritation spread across her face. “It’s a favor to Andrés, just a little way to get more money for the event,” she said, her teeth almost grinding.  
  
“Whatever you have to tell yourself. I’d think it means your work has been falling through the cracks,” he finished with a shrug. He kept walking, ready to get away from her as quickly as he could. He couldn’t continue to find ways to irritate her, even if he would enjoy it. He didn’t need it getting out that he was difficult to work with and create any problems for promoting.

He returned to the party, and grabbed a drink from one of the waiters. He walked over to where Rio was sitting, his hand wrapped around a wine glass. He had stumbled through his performance earlier, and Martín couldn’t help but sympathize for the nerves he must have felt. He pulled out the chair next to him. 

“Everything alright, Rio? Rough night?” He asked, offering him a friendly smile. He gently reached over and shook his shoulder. 

Rio glanced from Martín's face to the hand on his shoulder, looking confused and uncomfortable. Martín took his hand off, but Rio still seemed unnerved. He kept looking around the room, as if he was being watched. “I heard Fonollosa is here?” He asked, and looked a little more pale as Andrés' name rolled off his tongue. 

“That’s nothing to be intimidated by, Rio. He’s not so bad underneath all his arrogance and initial persona. He’ll cut you a little break for being nervous today.” 

Rio shook his head, and chugged most of his glass. “They like you. They want you to succeed. They just see me as some pretty boy to make money off of.” 

“I’m the pretty boy, kid,” Martín said teasingly, accompanied with a chuckle. “We all have to start somewhere.” 

Rio just shrugged, and leaned back in his chair. “Maybe other offers would’ve been better.” 

“I doubt it. This is the best company who could have signed you, and it’s worth remembering that.” His voice had turned sterner, but he didn’t mind. He wouldn’t hold back on his opinions, especially in regards to the company. 

They finished their drinks in silence, before Rio got up from the table. Martín thought back to his earlier days and how rattled he used to get. He made a note to find a way to continue to work with Rio until he had built up more of his confidence. His initiative would hopefully be a welcome surprise to Sergio. 

As the event started to dwindle down to an end, Martín noticed that Andrés was stuck in another group of people, leading yet another conversation. He couldn’t help but admire the way he was in total control of everything going on around him. He looked entirely cool, the right smile or look at precisely the right moment. He knew how to get the reactions he wanted out of people, that helped make for good business. Or, that’s what it looked like to him from the outside. 

He watched him carefully, and noticed that Andrés had switched from looking at the group around him to looking at him once more. He winked, quick enough that Martín couldn’t be certain that it had actually happened. 

Andrés nodded towards the exit, before he wrapped up the rest of his conversation. Without another word or movement, he headed towards the exit himself. Martín followed him out to the car. Before they had even made it out to the car, Andrés was back on his phone furiously typing away. 

They reached the car, but the silence felt more comfortable than it had on the ride there. Martín relaxed in his seat, and watched the city lights. He tried hard not to think about the smile or look he was certain they had shared. He didn’t want to be disruptive, if it could be helped. He didn’t need to look at Andrés to know he was yet again furiously typing away on his phone that was currently plugged into the car charger.  
  
“I’m glad to see it has become easier for you to follow my dress code. You looked the part tonight, and it suits you.”  
  
He glanced over at Andrés, the compliment hanging in the air between them. Martín found himself once again in a battle with his willpower. It would be so easy for him to grab Andrés' face in his hands, and finally close the distance between them. In that moment, however, he realized that it was far more than that.  
  
He gulped, as the realization settled heavily on him. He kept his gaze out the window, afraid of what he might say or do if he looked at Andrés directly. It would probably be like looking into the blazing sun in the middle of the day, and he wasn’t sure he was equipped to deal with the consequences.  
  
He tapped his finger mindlessly against the window. He couldn’t continue to just sit in silence. He scolded himself for letting it take so long to come up with an adequate response, before he finally managed to reply. “I can make anything look good, even if I don’t want to.  
  
Andrés' dulcet chuckle followed, and Martín noted how much easier it had gotten for him to make Andrés laugh since their first meeting. With every encounter, it seemed to become more and more common that the uptight manager let a little more of his guard down around him. There was a budding sense of trust that had started to form between the two of them that allowed them to almost be equals when they were alone.  
  
Maybe they could be friends, there was nothing dangerous in defining their relationship with that term.  
  
“I admire your conviction, Martín. I prefer to keep the company of people who know their worth,” he added as the car started to slow. “I will see you at the studio in a couple of days. You need to record a few more songs, including the one you were holding back from us. Your opening song this evening was one of your best.”  
  
“I had to make sure the record label was worth it,” he found himself teasing back, matching Andrés' playful tone. He looked at him as the car came to a complete stop. He had failed to notice the entire time they had been speaking, Andrés had been watching him. He hated to come off so callous and rude and knew he would have to make it up to him later. “Tell Sergio he can play sick anytime, I enjoyed your company.”  
  
He quickly got out of the car, and closed the door without another word. The second his door was shut, the driver had pulled away from the curve and started back down the road. He stood outside and watched as it disappeared from the corner. He couldn’t help but hope Andrés had watched him disappear from behind the darkened windows.  
  
And there was definitely no denying it anymore. What had started as a simple attraction had grown into a full schoolboy crush. He had found himself thinking about Andrés far too often--every detail of his smile and pitch of his chuckle etched perfectly in his mind. He had tried to believe that it was simpler than that, just his usual need to get a little relief. He remembered when he had coined it as _ boom, boom, ciao, _ to Denver a few years ago after his last break up.  
  
He walked back into his apartment, and reluctantly pulled out his notebook. The notes he had written a few weeks ago stared at him, and the words finally started to flow freely for him. He would have to call Denver and get very drunk over allowing himself to write a song because of a silly crush, but that could wait until tomorrow. In that moment, all he could see were the small wrinkles on Andrés' face as his lips tugged into his larger, relaxed smile. His mind shifted to the way he so carefully slipped into his driven, focused business persona, who was still charismatic and charming. The way his entrance into a room commanded attention, no matter what you had been doing the moment before.  
  
He started to sing the words softly under his breath, furiously writing as he tried to keep up with how quickly his mind was working.  
  


  
  



	10. An Invitation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have every intention of finishing this fic. 
> 
> I have just had a little more practice writing Berlermo since I started writing this, and it's made me take a second look at everything I had planned for this one. Plus, this is going to be my longest fic by far: so it definitely makes it a little harder to get everything done. 
> 
> In addition, I've had to up it to 30 chapters. Oops. 
> 
> But, without any further ado, please enjoy :)

Martín groaned into his pillow as the buzzing of his phone snapped him awake from a rather pleasant dream. He reached under his head and picked up the pillow before he draped it over his ears. It was barely enough to muffle the noise and not enough to drown it out completely. His eyes popped open as he made himself sit up. He sighed, reaching for his phone and hit the answer button before he took the time to see who was calling so early in the morning. “This had better be good,” he grumbled into the phone, trying to make his voice seem irritable and threatening. 

He was met with a snicker on the other end of the line which could have only come from one person. His face fell forward into his hand, certain his face was probably the same pink as the morning sky outside his window. He was glad Andrés couldn’t get a look at him from the other end of the phone. 

“The sun is ready to start the day, so should you,” he heard Andrés taunt on the other end of the line. Martín propped his pillow behind his back, and sunk into it. He supposed there were worse things than Andrés calling to wake him up in the morning. 

“You probably have exotic coffee prepared that makes you so happy to be awake,” he replied. He nuzzled against the pillow, his head rested on his shoulder. “The rest of us aren’t so lucky.” 

“I actually started my morning calling you,” Andrés replied in a sultry voice. Martín barely had enough time to pull the phone away from his ear, as his breathing became labored and heavy at the sound. He coughed as his body tried to force itself to breath normally once more. “Martín.” He heard faintly, as Andrés tried to command his attention once more. 

“Yes. I should’ve known you’d get right to work in the morning,” he answered faintly, still not quite recovered. 

“Don’t tell me you’re getting ill as well. If Sergio passed his bug onto you, I might just have to reconsider letting him manage you.” Martín could almost picture the playful, taunting smile spread across his face as he spoke. It was enough to make him smile against his pillow and better his morning. 

“No, no need,” he quickly added. “I’m sure you’re not just calling to chat,” he said slowly. He wasn’t ready for the call to come quickly to an end, but he knew better than to waste Andrés’ time.

“No, that would be a waste of resources. I was calling because Sergio was supposed to attend a gala with me this evening, but Raquel said he would be unable to attend. Apparently he’s so ill, she’s willing to step in as his secretary and answer my calls.” 

Martín snorted at the comment, and rolled his eyes. He had only met Raquel once at the vineyard, but he could imagine her chucking something at Andrés’ head for the comment. “What can I do for you? I didn’t have an event planned today, did I?” He was suddenly filled with a sense of urgency, and he threw back the blankets and rushed to the wall where he kept his calendar pinned. “I checked my schedule before I went to bed to make sure I didn’t need to set an alarm.” 

“No, that’s why I was calling. The gala would be a good time to give you more exposure. You wouldn’t be performing, but simply attending the party. With me.”

“With you,” he repeated, not sure he had heard him correctly. It couldn’t be much different than the event the night before, where he was simply trying to do his job. But, the way Andrés said it seemed like a clue to a puzzle which carefully needed to be solved. 

“Well, you wouldn’t know anyone else there so of course it would be with me.” His tone was a little snappier, but it didn’t bother Martín. There wasn’t much time for stupid questions if they had to get ready for another event this evening. 

“I look forward to it. It’ll be nice to be your arm candy.”  
  
Andrés’s deep laugh lasted for a minute before he was able to speak again. His irritable mood had left just as quickly as it came. It made Martín think back to all the people he had heard at the vineyard complaining about how cold Andrés could be. There was certainly an almost feral side to him, and if you cowered away instead of trying to push through the one version was all he would ever show you. Martín didn’t care for his poor attitude, but it didn’t let it bother him too much. He had his pressure points just like anyone else. While they were arguably easier to trigger than others, if you powered through them his mood would shift back.  
  
“If you find a decent suit. The car will be there to pick you up at half past 5. Don’t be late this time,” he added. “I’ll see you soon, Martín.”  
  
The phone call ended, and Martín felt the same strange emptiness he had the last few times he had parted from his contact with Andrés. Holding the phone against his ear, he could almost feel his arms wrapped around him in the office at the vineyard once more. The way Andrés had leaned in close and he could feel his warm breath while he talked. The memory sent a warm shudder down his spine, and he smiled. He walked over to his closet, grateful he had a couple of outfits left he hadn’t worn yet. There wouldn’t be enough time or enough places open on a Sunday to buy something. 

He combed through the options, before he sat one to the side. He still had a few hours, but he wasn’t going to make the same mistake and get to the car late two nights in a row. 

\--

The car barely came to a stop outside of Martín’s apartment, but it didn’t matter. He was ready and waiting to go this time, and opened the door as soon as it was within reach. He expected Andrés to be typing away on his phone, busy like he had been for the previous event. Instead, he found Andrés’ head turned towards his side of the car, a warm grin across his face. Martín couldn’t help but smile back, but immediately felt like running back inside his apartment. He was quickly learning no matter how hard he tried to look good in Andrés’ presence, he was never going to be able to measure up to just how well put together Andrés looked. His light purple shirt was buttoned up to the top, and he was tempted to lean over and pop a few loose in order to level the playing field. His maroon jacket stayed well pressed, even though he would have been sitting in the car for at least half an hour. Meanwhile, Martín’s jacket and pants already had a few wrinkles from walking down the stairs.  
  
“You never cease to impress me, Martín. You manage to add your own personality to my guidelines on what you can wear,” he said, before he looked ahead and motioned for the driver to get moving again. 

With Andrés, there was never any need to worry there was a hidden meaning in his words. Instead, Martín knew if he was unhappy with his outfit he would have told him. He had layered his black button up with a spotted orange pattern. Over it, his dark brown jacket, much like Andrés’, made the outfit more business casual. He tried to sit upright in his seat to avoid any more wrinkles, but still felt his back slumped back against his chair naturally. 

“Sergio was against this look, but I told him it was his lack of taste,” he said proudly. 

Andrés smiled, and lightly shook his head in response. “Sergio does try his best to keep up with what images I want the artists to have, and I tried for a few years to get him to conform to the mold. But, there are just some causes that are lost forever, and it was a battle I no longer wanted to fight.” 

“He’s family, I’m sure it is easy to show favoritism when it comes to him,” Martín offered as a further excuse. 

Andrés simply smiled in response, as he reached over and gently tapped Martín on the hand. “I imagine as an engineer, you don’t know much about art. If you stay by my side, I’ll keep an eye on you. We wouldn’t want you to feel embarrassed for saying the wrong thing.” 

The comment would seem more condescending if Andrés’ hand wasn’t gently rested on his own. He was tempted to turn his around and interlock their fingers, but he fought it. The flirtations were simply that, and he couldn’t push them any further. Andrés was once again exhibiting he was still in control of the world around him. Things moved and went exactly the way he wanted them to, within reason. Martín knew Andrés could sense how receptive he was to the attention, and part of him loathed it. Another longed to see just how far he would be willing to push the boundaries between them. 

Andrés slowly pulled his hand away, and looked out the window. Martín couldn’t help but look at him. “You don't have to think so hard about the event, Martín, I told you I’d take care of you. You’re mine for the night.” 

Martín tugged at his collar, suddenly feeling like it was cutting off his ability to breath. “Right. I’m sure it can’t be that hard. It’s just oil on canvas,” he replied, awkwardly. 

“It’s more than that. Real art should inspire thoughts, evoke emotions,” Andrés said, moving his hands for emphasis. “An artist can use the slightest brush stroke to say a thousand words.” 

Martín smiled, watching Andrés y’all so passionately. He looked comfortable and relaxed while he talked about art. Usually, he would’ve thought it sounded a little pretentious and simply part of fitting into higher society. But, Andrés seemed so genuine he couldn’t look away while he spoke. “You’ll have to teach me.” 

Martín looked out the window as the car went through a tall black gate. The small driveway leading up to the house was canopied with tall trees which glowed with the setting sun. Unlike other events, there was less noticeable traffic leading up to the building then there had been before. There was a curve in the large, yellow building with a circular window. It served to confirm it was going to be a smaller event for the evening. He was unprepared for a more intimate evening with Andrés, but the fact he had been invited excited him. There were certainly other people who could have been the plus one for the evening, but he had been the one to receive the invitation. It could only mean positive things for his career.

The car came to a stop and Andrés came around from his side of the car to open Martín’s door. His natural smile had been replaced by a more tense, rehearsed one. He wanted to find a way to bring back the one that had been there only moments before, but refrained. He was certain it would bring their night to a crashing halt if he made an ass out of himself. 

Martín glanced around the room as they walked in. The room had been carefully arranged so there was a flow of traffic into the side rooms which held most of the art. There were a few pieces on the walls in the main room, where some of the guests were currently gathered having a few drinks.

Andrés whispered, “I’ll be back in a moment, Martín. There are a few people I need to say hello to, unfortunately.” He never dropped his smile, his showmanship ever present. Martín made a note to ask him to teach him a few things about keeping a good attitude around these people. 

He sighed as he watched Andrés disappear into one of the rooms, feeling a little lost without him there already. These were not his kind of people, and he was certain once again they would be able to sniff him out. 

He reached for one of the tall wine glasses on the serving table, and walked over to one of the paintings with nobody else standing nearby. To him, it just looked like a large blue blob, on top of different colored swirls. He wasn’t sure how it could be art unless it was done by a one year old child. Still, he tilted his head and rubbed his chin with his free hand. At least he could try to look the part, even though the only thing the painting inspired him to do was find another drink. 

The sound of heavy footsteps came to a stop next to him, and he noticed the large shadow casted next to him. He turned his head to see a husky man with a brown and grey beard, a red french beret on his head, and a black turtleneck sweater. He looked the part far more than Martín, but still didn’t seem like he quite fit in with the others. “Enjoying the art?” He asked. His smile was warm and friendly. 

“Not sure there’s much to enjoy, big man,” he replied with a shrug. “I don’t see what the big fuss is about scribbles.” He reached out his hand out and pointed from the top to the bottom of the painting. 

“I’m not sure I could answer that question for you. I’m only here for the free wine,” he replied, as he reached the thin glass up to his lips. “And the men,” he added softly, barely loud enough to reach Martín’s ears. His cheeks flushed a bright pink when he noticed Martín had indeed heard him. His eyes focused on the stem of his glass, as he tried to recompose himself. 

It was the kind of softness Martín would usually pursue when he had been down on his luck for a couple of weeks. He had felt on top of his game in the back of the car with Andrés, and he wasn’t willing to settle. Still, it was always flattering to be flirted with and this was probably the best company he could ask for while Andrés was away. “Martín Berrote,” he said as he extended his glass in a toast. 

“Yes, I know who you are, Martín. I’ve been listening to your music quite often, even though I probably shouldn’t be,” he said sheepishly. Martín chuckled, but beamed. He hadn’t thought he would meet a fan so early on, but it filled him with excitement. It was a sign he was going to make it, and his, Sergio, and Andrés’ hard work to thank for it. “Yashin Dasayev, but I’m used to being called Helsi.” 

“Yashin,” he repeated. “Yes, that’s a far too strong name for you. You seem much softer, _ Helsi _,” he said with a wink. “So what brings you here this evening?” 

“Business. I’m supposed to make a few offers on pieces for my boss, because she likes to throw money around. But, in a couple weeks she’ll just put it up for sale with a higher price tag since she had her hands on it.” 

Martín nodded, and gestured for the two to keep walking along the wall. Flashes of color caught his eye, but nothing really stuck out to him. He wondered if Andrés would purchase any of these paintings, and hoped he had the common sense to buy ones that actually looked like they were worth the money. But, the quality of the work seemed to go further downhill the more they saw. “Your boss sounds like a teenage bohemian.” 

Helsi laughed, with a loud squeak. It was almost enough to make Martín want to plug his ears, but he managed to keep his cringe to a minimum. “She’s something else, but a job is a job. And everyone else isn’t bad. How did you get in?”  
  
“He’s here with me, Yashin,” Andrés said. The repugnance was evident in his voice as he spoke, arms crossed over his chest. They both came to a stop, and turned around to face him. The way Andrés glared at him made him feel like he needed to start groveling for forgiveness. He glanced quickly from Martín to Helsi, and the look darkened. He stepped closer to the taller, larger man, but Martín was certain he saw Helsi shrink. “I’d find someone else to poach before I get you thrown out of here,” he threatened, his voice low. 

Helsi nodded, his lips tight as he raised his hand to wave goodbye to Martín. He wasn’t sure why Andrés felt the need to be so overly aggressive, but he took Martín’s side without another word. They walked in silence for a moment, Andrés focused on the paintings and acting like he wasn’t there. However with each step, he seemed to move closer to Martín, his anger lessening. 

“Are you going to tell me what that was about?” He asked, uncertain Andrés would give him an answer. 

“He works for Tokio Oliveira,” he grumbled. “She’s been trying her best to come after some of my better performers. Contracts are as binding as they can be, but her lawyers are something else.” 

“Well, I’m not looking to leave,” he said, reassuringly. He turned to look at Andrés with a smile. “If anything, the big man just wanted to flirt with me.” 

But Andrés only looked more tense at his additional comment. He looked ahead, refusing to meet Martín’s eye. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought Andrés was jealous of Helsi. He couldn’t fathom why a man like Andrés would feel threatened by a man like Helsi, especially over him. Andrés was in a class all his own, while Helsi was more on Martín’s level. There wasn’t any competition. Though, his stomach fluttered at the idea Andrés was acting so territorial. 

Finally, he spoke again. “I said you were mine for the night. If you’re interested in flirting with someone else, I’d prefer you do it on your own time.” 

Martín blinked, swallowing hard on a breath of air. He covered his mouth in the crease of his elbow, trying to hide just how hard he was coughing. Andrés had already resumed looking at some of the paintings just a step to the right of him, but he was still surprised at his words. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve assumed they meant this was a date. It certainly couldn’t be that. He’d _ know _if they were on a date. This was simply his boss trying to get him some exposure, and he didn’t appreciate it coming from the competition. 

As the evening dwindled, Martín found Andrés had never left his side again. He was hovering, almost like a hawk daring anyone to try and strike. They hadn’t spoken much, but Martín didn’t care. They’d toured the rest of the gala, Andrés taking time to point out a few images or brushstrokes as they moved. It was fascinating to see Andrés so lost in his passion for the arts. It was yet another layer to him, and he simply wanted to keep falling in. Each time he saw a new side of Andrés, he couldn’t help but feel as if he had been given some exclusive access card. 

The better friends they became, the more the words continued to flow from Martín’s fingers. By the time they had arrived back at his apartment, he had almost thrown himself out of the car and up the stairs. He had shaken the hope this meant anything more to Andrés, but that didn’t mean he had to fight his muses. His eyes closed as he envisioned just the words to continue to add to his song. Tomorrow, his newest piece would be ready to perform at the studio. He only hoped it would be worth Andrés’ time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks for all the kudos. Kudos and comments are always so appreciated. I never fail to tear up at all the kindness so many of you show my stories.


	11. What Have I Done?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I agonized over this chapter and I really hope it paid off.

He could no longer count on one hand just how many times he had been inside the recording studio. Each and every time, he held his head up high as he entered the doors. He was usually able to keep the same air of confidence as he took the stairs, chest puffed out and shoulders straight. He knew the way into the recording booth without being told, and had made himself at home, able to get right to work before Sergio had even been made aware of his arrival.

Today was certainly not one of those days.

His knees wobbled from the moment he stepped out of the car, his sweaty palm gripping tighter on the thin handle of his guitar case. He was almost certain someone could’ve snuck into his house and covered the handle with a thick coat of butter, as it continued to slide around in his hand no matter how hard he tried to maintain his hold. He regretted not having Sergio bring his equipment back to the studio after his last performance, but he’d needed it to work on his newest pieces. His mind had been turning out tune after tune, freely and without any sense of restraint for the first time in his life. He could hardly keep up with the enchanting muses which called to him from deep inside his soul, making a connection with his brain to allow his hand the instruction to get them all down on paper. He worked furiously through most of the nights, and was certain he might have even written a few things down while he snored, hunched over the table on his bar stool where he had fallen asleep.

The previous night was no exception. He groaned when his phone began vibrating against his hand, far too close to his ear to provide any ability to hit the snooze button. His arms were folded underneath this head, his right cheek resting on the closed leather notebook. He slowly unfolded his body, forcing himself to sit up and stretch. The strain in his back and crook of his neck bothered him, but it was nothing a few painkillers wouldn’t be able to solve for him.

But as he stood in front of the recording studio, he felt the same pain begin to creep up his spine once more. He tried to massage the middle of his back with his free hand, hoping to ease the tension tightening there once more, but found his strength was too concentrated in trying to keep himself from dropping his guitar. He inhaled sharply, trying to find his sense of confidence. There was no reason to be this nervous so late in the game. He took a step forward, working hard to remind himself of the things he knew to be certain. He and Sergio had a good partnership running between them, he had been able to start getting his face and name out into the public, and he and Andrés had an unexpected, but blossoming connection between them. He was a talented musician, and for his work was going to reflect his passions.

He moved one foot in front of the other, smiling brightly as he walked through the door. He nodded at the receptionist as he made his way to the stairs. Careful to use the railing for a change, he continued his pace of taking one step at a time. The daunting path to the recording studio seemed to become less intimidating, as he forced the butterflies flapping in his stomach to vacate. Instead of feeling flushed, his skin hot and breath shallow, he forced himself to once again think of the things he had been inspired by. The warm smile flashed in his memory, lightening the usually dark features. The way he had been completely at peace, the first time since Martín had gotten to know him, surrounded by all the pieces of art he would still argue should all be thrown in the rubbish bin. Still, he would very much like to have his muse on one of those canvases, eternalized in a way he could look at every time he needed to simply stare until the words came to him. If he could capture it, in hues of black, mixed in with reds and shades of blue, it would probably mimic an enticing flame. It was the only flame he had ever needed, raw and pure, inviting him to try and possess the fire in a way he certainly never could. He would still chase it until it went too far, and he inevitably was burned by reaching too far. Ever one for the dramatics, he was prepared to burn.

He chuckled at just how ludicrous the notion was. He was certainly no painter, and he was perfectly capable of worshiping his muse through the artistic talents he already had. He smiled brightly as he pulled back the door of the recording studio, his mood skyrocketing as he noticed Andrés sitting down, already preparing a few of the notches and computers for his arrival. He stood in the doorway for a moment, unable to think. Andrés’ tight navy blue suit was new, sitting over a collared shirt with a few thin, black lines. There was no mistaking the fact it had probably been tailored for him just the night before. There wasn’t a single crease, even though Martín knew without a doubt he would’ve been at the office for at least five hours by then. The unusual thing about the attire was the orange striped tie, with a few, tiny multicolored polka dots detailing it. He was certain on someone else, the tie might come off as whimsical, but he wore it elegantly.

He leaned back in the plush leather chair, turning to face Martín. His thin smirk was spread across his face, giving him a soft nod of acknowledgement, before he rose to his feet. “How do I look?” He asked, straightening his suit jacket as he stood.

“Powerful,” Martín replied, firmly, as his own smile spread across his face. His lips were thin, as his mind tried to keep the real words he wanted to let loose come flying out. But, the compliment seemed enough to make Andrés smile, brighter like the sun beating outside the studio. Martín slipped his pointer finger down behind the first two buttons of his shirt. As he tugged at the thin collar, he was positive he would have to undo the top two buttons to be able to breathe better. “Beautiful,” he mumbled, under his breath. Andrés’ chuckled followed, enough to let him know he had heard the word anyway.

“Thank you, Martín. I worried the tie would be a little much, but Antonio insisted it matched the suit.” He grinned, the hint of self-doubt bobbling in the air, easily just as part of Martín’s imagination as the likelihood it existed.

Andrés’ head leaned back, tilted to the side as his top teeth rested gently on his bottom lip. His eyes traced Martín, the smile never faltering as he took him in. He glanced down at himself, grateful he had put some effort into his own appearance. The button-down, dark green Oxford shirt was tucked into his own navy blue pants, tied together with his leather belt. He looked rather presentable for a recording, especially given the fact he had been able to make it to the recording studio without the outfit picking up any wrinkles. His inability to sit still on the car ride over hadn’t screwed him over for once, and the increasing heat of late spring had worked in his favor just long enough.

“I’d argue you look almost just as good as I do,” he found the strength to continue, watching as Andrés’ eyes rolled back far into his head.

“Yes, certainly comparable,” he answered with a wink.

He felt the small shudder form at the base of his neck, rushing down his spine as though the first tingle of his nerves had knocked over dominos as it moved down his back. “Next time, I’ll make sure to spend more of your money for a follow up edition of who wore it best.” He kept his joking tone, as his free hand reached out and opened the door to the recording booth. The banter had only started a few short minutes ago, but the way his brain flashed warning signals made him feel as if he had been doing it for hours.

He stepped inside the recording booth, arranging things the way he liked them as he tried hard to focus on getting work done. But, every single movement was being monitored carefully on the other side of the glass. He was being observed for things he was certain Andrés should’ve had committed to memory by now. Few things had changed about him or his mannerism, except now he found himself far more willing to commit to the dress code Andrés had put into place. The clothes which had never seemed like they fit his image were slowly adapting with how serious he was feeling about performing. It solidified further in his mind he was no longer the musician playing at run down, dusty bars on Saturday nights to get away from the stress his students had placed on his shoulders. As a matter of fact, he may never have to teach again. He wasn’t quite at the place where he could hand in his two weeks’ notice, but it was inching closer. He supposed he would be more disappointed about giving up the career he had truly enjoyed, if he wasn’t so preoccupied trying to keep his eyes off the man on the other side of the glass.

“Martín,” the voice said over the speaker once more, snapping him back to the present moment. He jumped slightly as he looked up, Andrés looking far too amused and smug at his reaction. He wondered if he ever acted human and gave in to being startled by others. It was altogether possible he had forgone the ability. Sharks in the wild certainly didn’t get spooked by the other fish they were swimming with, fully aware and at comfort with their power.

“I’m a little busy,” he grumbled back, as he sat down on the stool, flipping through the pages of his notebook. He rolled his eyes, annoyed by the way there was a small crinkle in the middle, an obvious sign his failure to make it back to his bedroom before he had dozed off. He was far too careful never to bring any beverages close enough to the book, which left him with no other options. Thankfully, no one would ever be privy to the pages.

“A little busy,” he repeated, with a scoff. Martín glanced up his task, in just enough time to see Andrés slump back into his chair. He reclined back, turning from side to side as if he were a toddler, unable to control his rising levels of boredom. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes, certain he had never seen this side of him poking through the carefully layered professionalism.

“Trying to make you look good,” he added, resting the book down on his knee for a moment. Andrés sat a little taller in his seat, looking elegant and poised once more. He had to admit he was envious how easy it was for the other man to flip his behaviors as if the others never existed in the first place.

With his guitar secured on his lap, he gently tapped the middle of the body. The tip of his tongue wet his bottom lip. As though he could hear the music as clearly as he heard Andrés, coursing through in waves easier than the blood moved in his veins, he gently closed his eyes. Though the notes were ready for him should he need them, he instead decided to focus on simply being carried away with the moment. The feeling was all consuming, strong enough to wipe him out if he didn’t control the urges. But, he was a fighter, capable of taking the reins when he needed to.

_Woke up this morning, light poured in, you're with me_ _  
I thought I'd be better off alone  
Now, my soul has been torn and reborn, started breathing  
What have I done?  
What have I done?_

As he sang, his fingers moved masterfully to produce the melodious notes from his guitar. The image in his mind’s eye did no justice to what he could be looking at if he would just open his eyes. Though there were several feet between them now, and the thick wall of glass, it was too much and not enough at the same time. Perhaps referring to the unspoken, strong binds, which seemed to wrap around him and rested in the other man’s closed palm at the other end was weakened by simply considering the sensation a muse. Considering the way his chest tightened, as though it tried to warn him of some impending danger, it might be more appropriate to think he was being called out to by a siren instead.

_I never thought I needed saving, I was right where I should be_ _  
Good God, I know it's dangerous, but it's you that I need  
I'm in love this time  
I'm in love this time  
What have I done?  
What have I done?_

He slowly blinked his eyes open once more as the lyrics started to drift towards an end. While the song was completed, he knew it was best to leave it as a small sample of the work he had tried to prepare with every loving, soft stroke of his pen. His head slowly titled down, eyes shifted upwards as he tried to look at Andrés without making his intentions glaringly obvious. He wanted the thrill of the satisfied smirk, his boss’ mind lost in the lyrics the way any ordinary audience member might be.

Still, Andrés was nothing ordinary.

And when he looked up, he felt his body almost fall backwards off the chair. He forced the strength of his legs to keep him upright, as the awkward smile spread quickly across his face. He was certain his facial express was elongated and almost comical. His right hand flew up, using his pointer and middle finger to point just behind Andrés’ chair to where Sergio stood awkwardly, shifting from one foot to the other.

“Glad to see you’re feeling well enough to act like the world’s worst spy,” Martín teased.

Sergio still refused to make direct eye contact with him, hands folded against his chest. Martín was positive he had never seemed so uncertain, as though he had just interrupted an intimate moment between his parents. It definitely wasn’t as drastic as he was making this all out to be, and he wished he would pick up his normal patterns of behavior rather than drag this out.

“Sick?” He finally asked, his eye brow raised. His eyes shifted, as though he were trying hard to figure out why he was being asked the question. “Oh. Yes,” he nodded, too quickly to be a natural response. “Yes, we are all feeling much better.”

Martín couldn’t place why Sergio was overcome with puzzlement by the question, but simply shrugged it off. His hand rubbed across his chin, choosing to look back at his guitar and a few other items in the room. He knew the song was good, there was no need to be so overcome by the rush of panic pulsating quickly through his body. Sergio and Andrés were impressed by and signed their names to his worn out, ratty songs after all. Fresh material with a range of emotions would do a good job increasing their opinion of him.

But as he glanced out into the other room once more, eyes settled on Andrés. In that moment, he knew his sensitivity stemmed from something entirely different. However, the look on his face was easier to read this time, which only made his nerves flutter around in his abdomen. His face relaxed, his grin still painted on his face as he quickly flickered his eyebrows up and down. Andrés naturally leaned towards the glass, returning his own smile as he laughed at the gesture.

Both seemed completely oblivious to Sergio’s presence in the room once more. Martín wondered if he hadn’t imagined him there, standing tall behind Andrés since the he had yet to acknowledge his brother himself. It certainly wouldn’t be his first hallucination, but there was usually the product of an inhaled or digested substance provided to him by the friend he hadn’t seen for weeks.

“So glad you could join us, we’ve missed having you around,” Andrés said, eyes still fixated forward. Martín could see his hands moving in small motions in front of him, but whatever he was working on was blocked by the different monitors. The way both of his hands seemed to move in sync was just another impressive talent he seemed to possess.

Sergio finally seemed to find his voice again as he cleared his throat and stated, “I hope you have more than one song prepared.”

“Sergio,” Martín chided, as he picked up his notebook from the music stand and waved it above his head without a single care. “Sergio, please. Of course I’ve actually done my job. I haven’t taken a single day off in weeks,” he puffed out his lip, batting his eyelashes.

Stepping from the stool, he made his way to the piano on the right side of the room. Carefully lifting the fallboard to expose the beautiful spruce keys, coated carefully with the thin layer of ivory. They were waxed smooth, seemingly untouched for far too long. He had certainly shied away from playing the pianos in the record studio, and wondered if any of the other artists on the label attempted the instrument. He sat up tall, his fingers falling into place. Glancing over his shoulder, he chuckled as he started to play the all too familiar intro.

“I hope you actually prepared something besides ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’,” Sergio scolded over the intercom, his words muffled by Andrés’ deep laugh.

Andrés’ lighter reaction only served to goad him on. Encouragement for his imprudent behavior traced all the way back to his years in early education. He’d never intended to be the class fool, but the first time he had made the other children laugh because of his goofing off molded his personality into adulthood. He played the final few notes, noticing the way Sergio’s eyes seemed to be glued to the top of his head. Martín was certain if there was a bottle of whiskey in the room, he might just use it to drown out all of the nonsense.

“Just warming the piano,” he promised. He hummed along, knowing his ears were playing a trick on him as Andrés’ voice lightly sang along.

Turning his head around to focus once more, he sucked in a large breath of air through his nose, filling his lungs. With the little book in front of him, he carefully started to review the words and notes he’d written. Unlike the previous song, he felt the overwhelming notion to keep this one under lock and key. Now was certainly not the time for this level of secrecy.

It was evident why he felt the need to guard his next song. His motivation with writing stemmed from the same roots, but the connotation of the words came out distinctively.

He supposed it stemmed from their nature. The verses in the first song reflected inwardly on him. Honest was a little easier when it was coming from his own internal reflection. The thoughts pooling inside of him were the ones he should capitalize on. The ability to be raw and emotionally vulnerable when producing yielded the sweetest fruits. His fingers gently slid down the keys, trying to summon the courage necessary to reap the same reward. This one stemmed from his need to express his deepest praise, the way his mind and his soul had almost been bewitched by the sheer power of his tempter. 

His fingers floated softly along the keys, pressing just hard enough to carefully release each individual, distinctive sound. He strummed on the intro for just a moment, giving himself a moment to accept his surrender.

_Do I have to tell the story_ _  
Of a thousand rainy days  
Since we first met?  
It's a big enough umbrella  
But it's always me that ends up getting wet_

His feelings had eroded him down, creating a canyon deep and long enough to fill with endless poetic lines set to the repeating chords escaping the piano. Reservation was no more in his nature than being able to contain his chaotic tendencies. His spirits were lifted by this exquisite form of communication he couldn’t have in a normal conversation. He was exposed, free for any interpretation of the lyrics to befall on the ears of his producer in agent in the other room. He was grateful the angle of the piano allowed him

_Every little thing he does is magic_ _  
Everything he does just turns me on.  
Even though my life before was tragic  
Now, I know my love for him goes on._

The last few chords fell from his fingers, a few soft tears dropping from his eyes. He blinked them back, puffing out the air he kept drawn in his chest to try and regain his composure. The angle of the piano still worked to his advantage, shielding his tears and sentiment from Andrés and Sergio. Once he felt adequately prepared, he shifted his left leg over the piano bench, twisting his torso to be able to see their reactions.

Andrés had simply relaxed in his chair, hand across his chest as he finished soaking in the lasting impression. His eyes were closed, almost as if he was surrounded by a serene warmth. He tremored watching him simply taking in the scene in front of him. The song had gone over well, judging by the way he reacted. There was no need to do anything other than live in the moment he had created. Certainly, the true nature of his words was lost between them but it was enough he had evoked the right emotions.

Still, his eyes shifted with some difficultly to observe Sergio’s opinion. While his face held a small grin of his own, he refused to fixate on one object for two long. His chin moved in small motions from side to side. When he noticed Martín looking at him, his left hand moved to hold it in place, a nod of approval. But, his glance moved all too quickly from his employee, down to his older brother.

If anything, Andrés may not have come to understand the full message of the songs, but there was no doubt in his mind Sergio had picked up his intentions.

A few weeks ago, he probably would have turned a sickly shade of green. His stomach would have churned, and he’d be excusing himself for a little more privacy to process the potential for ruining his business relationship with his agent. But, he had worked too hard on his ability to control his emotions over the performance, and battled against this thing inside of him for long enough. Sergio already knew, and all he could try for was to show he wouldn’t act on them any further. It was too damaging to fly this close to the sun, for he was no Icarus. There were choices to be made, and while he would sing and perform to appease and worship his muse, there was a line to be drawn in the sand in regards to his career.

“Perfect, Martín,” Sergio said, calling them all back to the moment. Andrés brought his hands together in three soft claps, his eyes opening wide. He could imagine the sparkle in them, as though he was standing only inches away. He had committed every fine detail of Andrés’ facial expressions to his memory, stored away to serve him well when he needed to work. However, they seemed to only mock him with false pretenses now.

“Some of my best work yet,” he replied, moving to exit the recording booth. He came to a stop when he reached the edge of the table, wanting to move closer to Andrés but knowing all too well to keep his distance.

“We will continue to promote you, and have you ready to go out for a few shows in the summer.” Andrés’ words were calculated, his business persona overtaking him once more. His smile betrayed him, giving a sense of false security and hope to all of Martín’s wildest dreams.

“You have a few events coming up we can send him to in the meantime.”

Sergio’s words seemed to be focused, but the understanding between them crept back into Martín’s mind. He probably wouldn’t actively encourage him to this, and he briefly considered the notion he hadn’t picked up on the truth after all. He’d be lying to himself, but they could address it later in private.

“You two didn’t kill each other at the last two,” he added, adjusting his glasses.

“I agree. I’ll keep him close to my wing for now,” he rose from his chair, stepping closer to Martín. Gently, Andrés’ hands came to rest on the sides of Martín’s face, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. “Wherever your inspiration came from, I want you to keep drilling into it. Brilliant, Martín.”

His face warmed enough he was certain he would test positive for a fever. He tried to quickly adjust the folded collar of his shirt enough to hide the light shade of coral his cheeks had flushed at the gesture. He was accustomed to the small sign of affection, but it had yet to come from Andrés or any other employer for the matter. 

“Right,” he mumbled, the tip of his finger moving to trace the remaining moisture on his face. “Not a problem, boss,” he promised, beaming. The command was one he certainly have no issue adhering to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was entirely fluffy. I feel both sick from how sweet it was, as if I just ate a bunch of cake; and also like crying into a pillow. I hope you all enjoyed it. All of your comments and kudos are so greatly appreciated. 
> 
> Songs in this Chapter:  
What Have I Done: Dermot Kennedy
> 
> Everything she does is magic: Sleeping at Last Cover (because it is the superior version of this song)


	12. The Tailor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recognized yesterday as I sat down to work on this chapter there was something missing to help transition from the recording studio to the next event, which I think I have remedied now. 
> 
> Enjoy! :)

He tugged at the cuffs of his jacket, carefully moving them into position on his wrists. He tried not to move too much, knowing he was far from being known for his balance, and the area of the footstool only gave him enough room to turn when told. He kept his back straight, shoulders square as he settled into the warmth of the new, single-breasted jacket. The charcoal cashmere suit was granite flecked, perfectly tailored to fit his lean frame after three weeks of preparations. The matching pants stopped just a few centimeters above his ankle, exposing his plain maroon socks which extended past where his wooden brown dress shoes cupped around his ankles.

As he looked at himself in the three panel mirror, which seemed to stretch from the floor to the middle of the room, he noted he could hardly recognize the man looking back at him. He was simply more than the young man from Argentina dreamed he was ever capable of. He was more than the young man from Argentina was told he ever  _ would  _ be. Certainly, he had done well for himself throughout the years, always doing better than simply scrapping by from paycheck to paycheck. The wear of his life reflected in the soft wrinkles on his face, highlighting his features around his forehead and down the outline of his face. There were a few silver streaks poking through his brown hair, which would surely need to be dyed before the upcoming event. He wasn’t sure when he’d aged so much, time creeping up on him all too quickly in recent months. Still, the spring in his step and the trajectory of his life seemed to match the graph of someone half his age. He had no complaints about looking far more attractive, the wisdom of his years to aid him, while also still feeling as though he were floating on air.

It certainly had more to do with the fact the suit was going to cost about three months’ worth of rent combined, than the fleeting idea of another, taller man standing in his place from time to time. His presence wasn’t a taunting phantom, traces of him weren’t scarcely evident all around the place Martín would wager he frequented at least once a week. He averted his eyes, keeping them away from the metal hanging rack, white tags with small black writing revealing their owners. There would be no point in staring for too long anyway. While most of the suits were exposed and in the open for anyone to take a look and draw inspiration in their orders from,  _ his  _ were covered by vinyl zippered garment bags. He wondered how long it’d taken Antonio to argue, back and forth but never wavering in his argument, to keep those jackets on the same rack. He could imagine his face twitching, as though he were a toddler being told there would be no ice cream after dinner. He considered for a moment the argument may have taken entirely inside Andrés’ small head, just enough respect for this type of artist to keep his thoughts and expressions minimal. It was probably a one in five moment across his entire life.

His face relaxed at the thought as he chuckled softly to himself. His arms dropped to his sides, as Antonio stepped around with the measuring tape. “You deserve a pay raise, I think,” he joked, as the thin yellow ribbon wrapped around his chest, carefully ensuring no additional tailoring was necessary.

Antonio’s round glasses seemed to make his eyes larger, and all too easy to see he was fixated on his task over anything Martín had to say. The old man looked so much smaller from where he was standing, and even without the extra height granted to him on the stool, the small hunch of his back made Martín tower over him. The physical difference was not one he experienced often, and he could argue he had to rebuild himself to gain any standing within the label. Even Antonio was above him in the metaphorical food chain, never to be lowered for anyone other than Sergio and Andrés himself. The tailor was an irreplaceable part of the team, delicately used in exactly the right circumstances.

His ambition to rise, just as high as he could never to falter, was exactly why he was there being dressed in clothes he would just as soon sell for instruments and pick up his tattered jeans and an old, worn tee-shirt in the suit’s place.

“Are you almost done?”

He looked behind him in the mirror, as Denver leaned back pulling the front two legs of the black folding chair up off the floor. His head was tilted back, arms lazily hanging at his sides as he seemingly attempted not to groan loud enough for the entire store to hear. He’d been neglecting his friend for far too long now, time constraints coming from the end of the term and the long scroll of tasks Sergio executed down to him keeping him away from any sense of a personal life. The trip downtown to finish preparations with his suit provided him the only opportunity to bribe his friend to come share a drink, granted he could get through an hour of shopping first.

“Almost,” he replied, letting out a puff of air through his nose as his eyes rolled hard enough to give him a small twinge of pain in just below his eyebrows. He turned around, extending his arms away from his body to give a full view of his suit. “How do I look?”

Denver’s head fell forward, as he shifted it from side to side. “It is expensive. It looks good. What do I care?” He droned, the words robotic as they fell from his lips.

“I need an honest opinion, Denver.”

“What, are we two girlfriends now, Martín? Come on,” he laughed, finally looking up with a lively grin on his face. “It looks good.”

Martín spun on his heel, facing the mirror once more as he tugged at the collar of the undershirt. Asking for the opinion of a straight man, particularly when that man was Denver, was as useful as the blind leading the blind. His patience for shopping was soured and curdled, past the expiration date he was promised. But, it did nothing to persuade Martín they would be ready to leave just yet. Everything had to be perfect for tomorrow night. His thoughts consisted of nothing else in the seventeen days since he was last able to step inside Fonollosa Records, and each day dragged on longer than the next. His ability to provide anything for his students was no longer accessible, and the moment his final student handed in the poorly constructed exam, he’d torn out of there faster than any of his pupils.

The invitation to the gala weighed heavily on his mind. He would be able to simply enjoy and participate in conversation, but he longed to be able to perform again. He recalled the amused expression on Andrés’ face when they spoke about it at the studio.

“I think it would be better for my image if I was one of the performers, don’t you?”

Andrés had chuckled then, the light one which softened his usually dark features. “You are suddenly an expert in charity galas?” He’d asked, one eyebrow raised to express his judgement, still maintaining the airy feel in the room.

“I have a lot to offer, and it gets my name out there.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I would think you were looking for ways to avoid me at the event.” His reply was spoken with a drop in his tone, his eyes fixated on organizing the large stack of files on his desk. He kept his hands busy, as though he would be betrayed by his own body if he devoted more attention to Martín.

Which was better than being accosted for crossing the line, met with fury as his body gave into shaking. “I mean no offense, Andrés.”

“Then you’ll simply appreciate being my guest for the evening.”

The conversation was certainly not enough to break all of the good will between them, but served as a strong callback to things already established in his mind about his boss. Luckily the occasional slip of the tongue was overlooked by the strong sense of camaraderie and friendship they shared. Perhaps, it stemmed simply from being close in age; however it was no secret they’d led entirely different lives up to now. He knew the whispers in the artist community, and even saw them first hand from his fellow artists. The invisible threads pulling them closer to each other worked both ways, even if Andrés’ were rooted deeply in his professional fondness over any other sentimentality. 

A reminder was an opportunity to change and be better next time, more alert and aware of the implications carried in his words. Though he felt inspired to try and take action, not only to serve as a passerby in his own life and career, there were limits to his influence over those decisions for now. Reasonably, yes and no responses should still be the ones coming out of his mouth no matter how they fought against his nature. He was far too active and egotistical to drive around in the passenger seat, but Andrés’ sharp tongue knocked him back down the ladder just as he settled in. 

With one final look, he smiled brightly at Antonio. “It’s perfect. Sergio said it would be delivered to my house?” 

“Yes. Miss Gaztambide will be around within the next half hour for pick up. Mr. Fonollosa treats the finished project as a covert mission,” he replied, the first smile Martín had seen now thin across his face. “Can’t trust anyone to ensure things don’t go wrong.” 

He reached out to shake his hand, firmly. “Five minutes,  _ quierdo _ ,” he taunted at Denver, before stepping back into the changing rooms. Unlike the rest of the shop, illuminated by carefully placed light fixtures to offer ideal frontal lighting, the changing room was small and dark. It was certainly the black sheep of the otherwise emmaculate store, but nice enough Martín would prefer it to his apartment. Quickly stepping into his tight, dark blue jeans, fitted cream color shirt tucked in and old, faux leather belt around his waist, he lovingly carried the suit back on its hanger, bridal style to the rack. Absentmindedly, he placed his just after the last of Andrés’. 

He softly ticked at Denver, who immediately jumped to his feet. With a cock of his head towards the door, the two walked through the grey glass door, out into the open street. Beads of sweat formed on the back of Martín’s neck as the spring sun warmed him, significantly warm for a mid-May day. Still, the warming weather was welcoming, bringing in the promise of a beautiful summer riddled with opportunities. 

“You’re trying too hard.” 

He stopped in his tracks at Denver’s blunt words, blinking furiously as his friend continued walking without him. For a man who only minutes before complained as he asked for a simple opinion, he felt as if a bandaid were ripped off, taking several pieces of arm hair with it. 

“I am  _ trying, _ ” he corrected as he briefly increased his speed. 

Denver stuffed his hands into his pocket, still looking ahead as though he wished to change the topic of discussion. He glanced quickly, from the fat birds sitting in the middle of the street, to diners of varying restaurants they passed, back to the light grey concrete in front of his black Vans. 

“If you have something to say, get it over with,” Martín growled, almost irrationally. There was no need to overreact so much, but as his heart bumped quicker inside his chest he could think of nothing else. 

“You wrote love songs for your boss. Now you’re dressing like arm candy. It’s  _ weird, _ ” he stressed.

“Where is this coming from?” He asked defensively, twisting his body at his waist, one hand firmly coming to rest on his waist as his pace faltered once more. Denver continued to walk forward, as though the conversation were something he could afford. He reached out, grabbing him by the shoulder as he yanked him to a stop. 

“I’m watching out for you.” 

“You’re jealous,” he grumbled, glaring at his friend.

Denver laughed, obnoxious and broken into an almost cackle. “No, I am happy for you.” His tone was sincere as his loud laugh came to a slow stop. “Just concerned you don’t know what you’re getting into.”

“What happened to not wanting to be girlfriends, hey?” Martín’s arms defensively crossed over his chest, as he focused on lowering his irritation. His head throbbed from the effort, a conscious and constant reminder to himself Denver wasn’t one of the artists forever indebted to him for helping their careers to blossom, but still running his mouth whenever the man’s back was turned and attention diverted somewhere else. If this was bothering him to the extent of changing tides in their conversation and afternoon, he was genuinely focused on his well being. “Why?”

“You didn’t follow all the tabloids last year, and you probably never will,” he replied with a shrug, tugging his arm free of Martín’s loosened grip. “I don’t want it to come back and bite you in the ass.” 

“I appreciate the concern, but unless it becomes relevant I don’t plan on starting to form my opinions based around the views of other people. Especially dirty, money hungry journalists,” he said firmly, the final word on the subject. They lulled into a momentary silence once more, slowly picking up their speed as they continued down the street. The quiet between them shifted quickly from uncomfortable, to simply habit. 

His momentary anger at Denver dissipated, concern filling his thoughts. He dropped his hands into his pocket, fingers twitching as he tried to work through the new thoughts in his head. Of course, he was an active participant in various music channels, little connections tying him into this world and creating small roots before his meeting with Sergio. But, the gossip channels never seemed to be where his head should be. Speculation was hardly worth his time, far too valuably needed to produce songs when he wasn’t preoccupied with work. Now, his roots expanded deeper, and started to blossom past the surface. No temptations crept into his mind to search for answers to things everyone probably knew, apart from him. He stood completely by what he said to Denver, knowing there would be far too many biased perspectives unless the information came from the source himself. 

As they turned the corner at the end of the street, it proved to be a good thing the conversation had been cut so short. Another few minutes, a couple of ill placed words, and he would’ve fallen victim to bad timing. 

He smiled at the bright, expressionless face of the woman he recognized all too well. “Good afternoon, Mónica,” he greeted, a smile of his own across his face, hoping to invoke a change of attitude. Her positivity and cheery nature normally radiated easily off of her. Today, she looked grey and clouded, something on her mind. Still, as she looked into his eyes, her smile brightened up her face, attitude warming. 

“Martín!” She replied, excited but clearly surprised by his presence. “I didn’t expect to see you. How did the fitting go?” 

“Very well. Please thank Andrés if you see him, it was quite the experience,” he beamed. 

He waited to hear Denver scoff, but found him unusually quiet. He shifted his focus to look at his friend, and bit down on his tongue to keep from chuckling. Denver’s mouth was gaped open, just enough to be noticeable. Mónica’s focus remained on him, her eyes not so much as glancing in the other man’s direction. He wasn’t certain why Denver felt the need to overreact to this extent. He’d seen him parade around different women throughout the years, never picking one to settle into any routines with. His eyes were wider now, and one could argue almost softer as well. He glanced back at Mónica. Her curls were wildly arranged, somehow seemingly still in the exact places she wanted them. She wore a cropped yellow cardigan over a teal dress, printed with an assorted color of ladybugs, and butterflies. There was no arguing she looked as nice as she always did, especially granted he knew all too well about the label’s restrictions on what could be deemed appropriate. But, that was all there was to it. Denver looked as though he had never seen another human before, let alone a woman. 

He bit down on his tongue harder than, nodding along as he heard Mónica continue to speak. The words were lost on him as he monitored his friend, clearly engaged in whatever the woman had to say. He didn’t mean to be so disrespectful, but the light blush on Denver’s face as he continued to listen, mouth moving from time to time as though he were trying to politely show he was listening, was quite a switch from anything he’d seen him do before. They weren’t particularly known for stumbling through the door of their respective apartments, late at night under the cover of dark skies and the moon, with anyone noteworthy. Things never seemed to go very far for either of them, though more by design than by accident. So, watching as Denver stumbled through his words, carefully trying to play into the stereotype he best felt would gain him minute after minute in her company would serve as the best film he’d seen all year. 

He felt Denver’s hand swing, swatting at him on the chest. “I was just saying Mónica should join us for lunch,” he said, trying to communicate the seriousness of his words with his eyes. His lips folded tightly together, in a silenced plea to try and get Martín to join in on the providing the invitation. 

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” she added, still her best attempt at pushing past her earlier emotions. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be good company.”

“Nonsense,” Denver argued, moving his head at a soft angle in her direction. “We’d be happy to have you.” 

Martín snorted, turning his gaze back to her. “Unless you are too busy with work, I’d hate to keep you.” 

“You do know how Mr. Fonollosa gets when things aren’t done exactly to plan.” 

Her words, delicately spoken from her lips, offered a kindness he hadn’t seen from his other employees. It spoke volumes to the type of person she was and her own standings within the company. Andrés only carefully selected the most essential people to keep close to him, placing them on pedestals above the rest. Another person might have molded the situation in their favor, using shortcuts to get closer to their end goals. Sergio, Antonio, and Mónica could be disposable pawns, and on at least one occasion probably had been used as a means to an end. He couldn’t imagine being so manipulative. Andrés was too smart for that kind of seedy behavior, and he wondered how quickly the perpetrator recognized their failure in trying to place a blindfold over his eyes. 

Apart from his desire to get where he wanted to be organically, he couldn’t imagine being so cruel to someone as generous or kind hearted as Mónica. “I insist,” he nodded, adamantly. “If he complains, just tell him I held you up. I’m his new favorite, he can’t stay mad at me for long.” 

“Besides, Mr. Big Shot is paying. It’s a once in a lifetime spectacle,” Denver teased, lightheartedly. 

As a trio, they’d proceeded to their final destination, only a few meters from where they’d casually intercepted on the busy city street. The small restaurant offered plenty of outdoor seating, the warm spring sun providing just enough heat to be able to sit comfortably, without pools of sweat forming on their clothes. The circular table provided the ability for them to participate in an active conversation amongst the three of them, though they could’ve dined at completely different venues and it wouldn’t have made a difference. While Martín simply enjoyed his beer and food, Mónica and Denver were lost in conversation he didn’t care to join. He was never sure exactly what they spoke of, and his only inclination was to stuff the napkin in front of him through his ears, blocking out the sound of his friend’s laugh. While Mónica’s laugh was danity and sweet, Denver’s never failed to sound just a little like something you would expect after an animal had been hit by a car. He’d grown used to it, through the years, but something about how overly flirtatious he was being now was off putting. 

He pulled his phone from his pocket, surprised at just how quickly the hours of the day rolled them by. He thought of the twitching nerve, seemingly attached to the vein on the far right of his forehead. Denver held his chin in his relaxed hand, propped up on his elbow on the edge of the table, still ever engaged in conversation. Part of him felt guilty for forcing a quick end to the afternoon, but he despaired at the thought of Andrés’ temper exploding like a bomb at Mónica; and though he was willing to fall on the sword for some of the time she’d spent in their company, he had his own limits of how far he was willing to fall in Andrés’ bad graces. 

“It’s probably best we go our separate ways,” he spoke, just loud enough for his voice to project over their conversation. He waved his phone just a few inches in front of his chest, trying to bring attention to the time. 

Mónica’s eyes widened as she rose from the table, offering a quick, “excuse me,” as she stepped inside the small, yellow building to take a moment to freshen up before returning to work. Denver simply watched her go, as though Martín still did not exist in the moment even though he was now the only other person remaining at the table. 

“What was that?” The words dragged off his tongue, mockingly. “Desperation? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you try so hard.” 

He leaned back against his chair, head falling softly onto his shoulder as he lowered his brow. He batted his eyes at Denver, blowing soft little kisses as his friend’s face grew a similar shade of red to the tomatoes remaining on Mónica’s plate. Denver’s eyes narrowed in turn as his right fist folded, an attempt to try and intimidate his friend to return to mimicking the life of a mute. 

“When were you going to introduce me to her?” 

Martín chuckled, barely audible before he noticed Denver’s annoyance clearly settle on his features. It was impossible to accept just how serious his friend was in the moment. He broke into a full belly laugh then, disapproving looks as other patrons across the scattered dining area turned their heads personally offended by the noise breaking their own conversations and peaceful silences. 

“She’s too good for you,  _ boludo _ ,” he offered, regretting the harshness of his words. They reflected something he refused to admit, dark and deep inside of himself. He shouldn’t let his own internal dialogue manifest so strongly against his younger friend, who was actually behaving decently and acting quite the gentleman. “She’s also my boss’ assistant. I wasn’t in a place to just start handing out phone numbers,” he offered as a further explanation. 

Denver rolled his eyes, looking over his shoulder before he leaned closer to Martín. “You’re allowed, but I’m not?” He grumbled, his irritation evident but weak. His lip turned out, eyes wide as though Martín was staring into the face of a young, abused puppy. He flattened his hand against Denver’s face, using his strength to lightly push him away. 

“You’re whiny,” he muttered in response, before quickly looking up to meet Mónica’s eye as she returned to the table. “I hope you had an enjoyable afternoon.” 

“Yes, thank you. It was exactly what I needed today. Thank you, again, Martín.” She glanced down, noting just how close the two of them were still sitting together. “I hope I didn’t disrupt your plans too much. I know how hard it can be to have a moment for yourself.” 

Martín sucked in his lip, eye twitching at the connotation of her words. The way she now avoided Denver’s eye, the first time since their afternoon took a turn, confirmed the thoughts now racing through her head. His right hand flew up to cover his mouth, forcing himself to keep the laughter contained. Denver’s focus the entire meal was concentrated on Mónica, yet somehow the sweet girl was receiving the entirely wrong impression now. His free hand gestured between him and Denver, shaking his head quickly as he tried to provide the words his brain would not allow. 

“Mónica,” Denver said as he jumped to his feet. “Can I have your number?” 

Her eyes flickered between the two men, facial expression relaxing though he could see the trace remains of the question floating around in her head. “So, you two aren’t…” 

Martín turned his head, trying to advert Denver’s gaze, who looked as though he wanted to throw something. No doubt he was convinced Martín had somehow managed to slip a note to her, just enough to throw off her casual interest in his friend. Finally, he met his eye and the two erupted into a heavy laugh. 

He had to admit, it was a rather staged one on Denver’s behalf which only served to make him laugh louder in turn. 

“Many a man have tried,” Denver started, stepping closer to Martín to squeeze the back of his neck tightly. “I’m certainly not good enough for him. He has rather  _ expensive  _ tastes. He likes his men to fit certain  _ professional  _ standards.” 

Martín flushed red, his nostril flaring as his laugh quickly cut off in his chest. Mónica’s innocence may have failed her once, but the luck of it occurring twice was too much to ask. As he watched the two exchange numbers, he cursed ever agreeing to this arrangement. The last thing he needed was Denver’ tongue to be loosened with his increasing exposure to Mónica, and for secrets to accidentally be spilled over a bottle of wine. He would never be able to recover from the humiliation, and his career would become nothing more than a dumpster fire. 

When he considered his personal and professional lives colliding, he pictured a vastly different romantic entanglement binding them together. 

The hours rolled by, surprising him with just how quickly the time arrived for him to prepare for the event. If there was a God, he was certainly being blessed by the simple gift, which would probably prove to serve as a double edged sword. Normally, time dragged on slower than molasses whenever his heart pumped with excitement. Noon was quickly upon him, the suit arriving on the dot as Sergio promised it would. Now, he stood with his fluffy navy towel wrapped around his hips, his suit exposed in the dark grey garment bag attached to a hanger which hung from the top of his bedroom door. He was grateful they had taken the time to perfectly steam and press his suit, forgoing the need to try and do an adequate job himself. Everything needed to be precise for this gala. Three weeks was entirely too long a break from his source of inspiration. He found himself surrounded by hints of his scent, tormenting him as he turned corners around his small apartment. He was careless in his unwavering need to be back in Andrés’ presence again. Assuredly, it would serve as a dead giveaway, painfully evident as he quickly jumped up and down the moment the car pulled to the curb. He felt incapable of curving his excitement in the slightest, siding with the fact he didn’t give a damn anyway. 

Once completely dried, ensuring he was already off to a good start, he carefully started to put together the layers of his suit. He carefully stepped into one leg after the other of his trousers, slowly pulling them up his legs to ensure they didn’t get bunched up. He wrapped the dark grey belt, slowly through each loop as though tugging too hard might rip the stitching, leaving it unbuckled until he tucked in the bottom of his white button up shirt. He carefully pulled each together, as though it were his craft. Though he’d pictured the suit with maroon accents for the evening, he carefully picked up a shiny navy tie in its place. It stood out to him amongst the rest of his options, all rolled carefully into boxes and stored together in his drawer. Whatever the reason, he decided to give in to his instincts. 

The grey vest was next, two larger black buttons used to hold it together. Finally, the ensemble was tied together by his suit jacket. He wagered he looked completely up to Andrés’ standards now. Their participation in a who wore it best competition might actually give them closer percentages. As he looked at his own reflection in his small mirror, the poor yellow lighting casting a few shadows on his face, he noted just how nice he looked regardless. His combed hair sat flat on his heat, gelled just enough to keep his hairs looking naturally in place.

His timing was impeccable, as he stood outside waiting for the car to come to a stop in front of him. His hand reached out for the shiny silver handle of the Audi A5 Coupe, which looked perfectly polished. First impressions were of course important, and he longed for Andrés to get a look at him. 

He jumped back as the car door swung open, tumbling so quickly he almost fell over on his ass. His eyes were trained on the man emerging from the opened car door, moving with an almost inhuman speed. The first thing he noticed upon getting a full glance at Andrés, who was too busy slamming the car door shut to pay him any mind, was just how out of place his outfit was. He radiated anger, his features white as he seized with frustration. The contrast evident due to his deep red, maroon v-neck sweater, on top of a checked off-grey polo shirt. All of his senses focused on Andrés’ dark black jeans. He would have placed all of his money on the guarantee seeing Andrés in jeans would happen long after unicorns were available in pet stores.

“Andrés?” 

He turned on his heel, the features of his face still tight. He seemed smaller standing in front of him now, and Martín briefly considered the idea he was the shorter of the two. Thick bags hung under his eyes, forming dark circles. His frustrations were short lived as he trembled, just enough to have just as easily been an effect caused by the soft spring breeze. 

Andrés threw his hands down, gesturing at his clothing. “My suit should have been delivered to your apartment by now. Of course, nothing ever goes to my plans no matter how direct my instructions are!” 

Martín wondered if he would be less intimidated if Andrés gave into screaming. His voice was unsettling, low and deep. He nodded, trying to keep his responses kurt until the image of Andrés preparing for the evening in his small bathroom settled in. He could picture the items thrown around his apartment, unorganized and unprepared to receive guests. Luckily, surfaces were clean of obvious dust and grime, but the possibility of anything lurking underneath his belongings still stood a fighting chance. 

“You’re getting ready here?” He choked. 

“Yes, weren’t you listening?” 

“No need to snap at me,” Martín replied, uncertain why he chose now to stand his ground so firmly. He composed his posture, the two staring each other down. Their eyes locked, wordlessly communicating a need for the other to stand down to the real authority of the moment. Martín felt his throat constrict, but nonetheless continued to hold his own. He wouldn’t flinch simply because Andrés was in a bad mood. He committed to taking a lot of shit, but he still had his limits. 

"We are going to be late." 

"Fashionably, or better late than never. Which saying do you prefer?" 

Andrés growled then, eyes narrowed as he pulled at the v-neck collar of his sweater. He seemed almost unhinged then, and a weaker man might have backed away then and there, leaving him to his tantrum outside on his own. Until he could see the lines start to crack, chipping away at his pretenses.

Andrés tore his gaze away, as a traitorous whimper escaped his lips. Exhaustion was quickly overtaking his body, and he faltered. His knees shook, humiliation filling his face as he continued to look around the exterior of Martín’s building over the man himself. Instinctively, Martín reached, wrapping Andrés’ right arm over the back of his neck. “I don’t need help walking.” He tried to snatch his arm back, but Martín was stronger and faster. He held tightly to Andrés’ waist, their bodies close together. In his wildest dreams, he did not imagine his first embraces with Andrés would ever be the result of him trying to walk him through the steps leading to his home. Still, he could not shy away from the overwhelming need to tend to his friend. He noticed Andrés’ body relax, almost curled into him as he accepted an inevitable defeat. His exhaustion was worrisome, but probably nothing more than the result of too many late nights burning the midnight oil. He knew most of the big name artists were beginning their summer tours soon. He imagined overflowing stacks of paper on Andrés’ desk, empty cups of coffee scattered between the towers. 

He helped Andrés onto the sofa, throwing the door to his apartment open without considering the first impressions he had been so concerned about only minutes ago. Andrés sunk into the cushions, his face flushed pale. Martín knew it was beyond his ability or his place to suggest going home instead of attending the event. So, he prepared the next best thing instead. He removed the cafetera from the shelf to the right of his kitchen sink, busying himself with preparing a warm cup of coffee to help him wake up. Andrés’ eyelids drooped low, as he fought endlessly to try and keep them opened. He hastened his speed, filling the bottom portion with just enough water, before adding the coffee grinds to the middle section. His  café con leche was only appropriate for a poor man’s palette, but it would have to do. 

He filled the blue coffee mug, one had at the base and the other around the handle, as he stepped into the other room. He took each step mindfully, careful not to spill a drip on himself, or the floor. “Drink,” he commanded, guiding Andrés’ hands around the cup. He tried to ignore the feeling of electricity as their fingertips touched. Now was not the time to fixate on such things. 

With the coffee in his hands, carefully raising it to his lips. As the warm liquid touched his tongue, he immediately ripped it away once more, staring at the contents of his glass and back up at Martín. The look of disapproval in his eyes already told Martín he would never be trusted with such a simple task ever again. "Is this how you treat all your guests?"

"Is this how you treat all your hosts?  _ Cabeza de pija _ ," Martín snapped back, before he quickly took a step back from the sofa. He scoffed as he directed himself back into the kitchen, needing to find something to keep himself busy. He thought he heard Andrés mutter something about not using his best etiquette, and as he quickly cleaned up the small mess from preparing his coffee, he could see the cup raised to his lips once more. 

Color returned to Andrés’ face as he finished the cup, almost too quickly for Martín’s taste. It wasn’t hard to note he was forcing his sips down, but at least he appeared grateful for the beverage. He carefully set it down on the small, wooden coffee table in front of him. Martín wanted to stomp back over, quickly swipe up all of the mismatched items and throw them into his room under lock and key. Now his nurturing instincts were replaced by a heavy embarrassment. He would have hired an interior decorator to provide any sense of flow to the room if he had just known Andrés would be there, for his first and last time. 

“We might need to get you a maid,” Andrés said, still settled back onto the sofa. His head was turned, his attention solely dedicated to Martín as he cleaned the last part of the coffee maker. 

“I agree,” he chuckled. 

Andrés glanced around the room, as though he were trying to formulate an opinion on Martín’s personal life. He’d never had any of his employers or fellow faculty over from the university. He rarely went out with them in public. Denver was the only person who had spent extensive time in his apartment, and he was uneasy having Andrés here now. The feeling intensified as Andrés reached forward onto the coffee table, picking up a small figurine carefully with his fingers. Martín strained then, his impulses needing to shout out to put it back where it had been found. Still, Andrés’ fingers were holding the small, wooden dolphin, glossed over with blue paint chipped from the years, as though he held a piece of fine china. 

He came to sit on the other side of the sofa, monitoring Andrés carefully. His hand reached out, ready to catch the dolphin if he needed to. Andrés looked down from the toy to Martín’s outstretched palm, before he folded each of his thick fingers around the wooden figure. Martín smiled, “What happened to not touching things that didn’t belong to you?” 

“That only applies to you,  cariño .” His fingers lingered softly on Martín’s for just a moment, pinky rested on the tip of the dolphin’s nose. He tapped it gently. “I think we are even now.” 

Martín grinned, opening his hand to expose the toy once more. “Yours was valuable. Mine is just sentimental,” he explained, overcome with the desire to share a small part of him to a receptive Andrés. “The only gift I have from my father.” 

Andrés nodded, a look of understanding planted on his features. He seemed almost apologetic for picking things up without permission, though he knew the words would never come out. “A different kind of value,” Andrés replied. His earnest words warmed something inside of Martín. The conversation between them began to dwindle. Martín didn’t want to sit on the sofa for too long, but even with coffee coursing in his bloodstream, Andrés looked as if he could pass out and sleep for the next thirty-six hours. He longed to drape a throw blanket around him, and offer the pillow from his bed to allow his muse to get a nap before his outfit arrived. He knew Andrés would be no more receptive to the idea than cancelling altogether. 

Instead, Martín moved around his apartment, picking up a few of the misplaced items. He tried to ignore just how small his apartment felt. There was both too little and too much distance away from Andrés. Every step seemed closer to him, and further away. Each movement felt observed, even though every time he looked at Andrés, his eyes were closed, expression relaxed. He wasn’t sure what to make of the mood of their evening so far, but he wouldn’t go so far as to hope for a restart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of your comments are so greatly appreciated. I am so overwhelmed by the love and support I receive for my stories. I try so hard to keep the same level of writing consistency each chapter, while trying to provide something exciting and new. I have everything planned out (hopefully with no more curveballs), but I hope to be done by August. One chapter per week seems to work really well, for now. 
> 
> Some of you asked for a playlist. It is on Spotify, Every Little Thing (He Does is Magic): Berlermo. Some of the songs aren't ones included in this fic, but rather a look at some of my inspiration for scenes/things I just like listening to in order to get into the right mood to provide the right vibes for this fic. 
> 
> I love hearing your thoughts, so please keep up the comments and kudos! Again, I really cannot comment on just how much your kind words motivate me. I give so much of my heart and soul to this story in particular, researching tiny little details to get things just right. I'm glad it pays off and people enjoy my work. I think I have some really good stuff planned...so, until next week! :)


	13. Halo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope you all enjoy this fluffy little chapter. Thank you for the reviews as always. 
> 
> I am hoping!!!! this story will be done by the middle of June :) so, fingers crossed. Reviews and kudos keep me motivated, and I have some beautiful things planned. 
> 
> I might also go have a listen to the "Halo" cover by Lotte Kestner before you begin...or when you're done :)

Andrés’ suit arrived, nearly thirty minutes after he had. Martín waited patiently in the kitchen while Andrés used his bedroom to quickly prepare to run out the door. He tried not to fixate on the significance. So far, the impressions of his apartment reflected poorly on his priorities. He could only return to immaculate images of Andrés’ potential home: filled with lights, beautiful paintings, more than one flat level cramped together, with room for entertaining endless masses of people. He could see a spiral staircase, leading to rooms filled with a private collection of canvases even Andrés’ ardent words would be unable to explain to his deaf ears. His memory failed him, drawing up blanks as he tried to recall if he had any defining pieces of himself in his bedroom. Engineering textbooks and a rugged toolbox were probably thrown around his room, tripping hazards he could almost hear drawing a string of curses from Andrés’ tongue as he had to catch himself. Thankfully, he had taken the time to fold and hang his clothes the moment they were done--an unusual habit he probably wouldn’t adopt anytime soon. Still, his stomach sank with the feeling of dread the longer Andrés remained in his room, unsupervised. 

There was still the matter of the little black book, sitting exposed and vulnerable to prying eyes, popping out against the nightstand, flickering in and out of his mind. 

Martín took a step towards the door, before pulling back again. His feet planted firmly on the ground beneath them, choosing instead to focus on keeping his suit from being wrinkled. His faith was in Andrés the way it wouldn’t be in Denver--_ Andrés _ wouldn’t pry. Andrés was in a _ hurry. _His priorities were in order and he would stay true to course, even if the book jumped into his soft hands on its own, demanding to be read. 

His thoughts derailed from the mess of his room, and the unguarded exposé, inching closer and closer back to where he knew they shouldn’t be. On the other side of his door, the object of his affections stood, going through the simple everyday motion of getting ready for an event. They shared the same movements: arms and legs through sleeves, looking into the tiny mirror as hairs were brushed into place, and taking one final m Martín occupied every day. They could just as easily sink into the habit of doing these things together. 

But his traitorous mind filled with new images, proving his sincerest dreams to be figments of a reality he would never achieve. He could picture the extravagant suit, each individual strand of Andrés’ hair perfectly combed, and overwhelming scents, their only purpose to intoxicate whatever common sense he maintained with the other man around. Martín’s cowklick would already be standing up, hairs falling out of place one right. His suit would hardly ever compare to the piece Antonio crafted for Andrés; and his was purchased with his _ own _ funds, not the company’s. Martín assumed the role of Cinderella, midnight looming closer. He might be allowed to fill the role on multiple occasions, but pumpkins did not compare to Audis. 

The sooner there were other people surrounding them to shift the mood of the evening, the better. He was far too flustered now, tarnishing his record more and more by the moment. His mind spiraled, and if the behavior continued, he would finish stacking the cards against him. 

“Andrés, did you get lost in there?” He shouted out, before his hand flew up to his mouth, pinching his lips shut. As the years went on, with the more he learned about himself, his knowledge about his inability to keep his first thoughts to himself only ever solidified. 

Silence met his question, and he inhaled deeply. Perhaps, Andrés was incapable of hearing him. The tender mercy seemed out of reach, but there was certainly a first time for everything. Or, some people possessed the unnatural habit of keeping their quips to themselves. Andrés was certainly dignified enough to be one of those people. 

By the time Andrés stepped out from behind Martín’s thin bedroom door, his face was brighter and appeared rejuvenated. The olive color in his features returned, replacing the pale white haunting him no more than an hour ago. Martín felt a surge of pride rise in his chest, knowing his efforts were at least successful in tending to him. His eyes slowly traced down Andrés’ long, smooth neck. His mind filled with images of soft, stubborn stubble, appearing every moment against Andrés’ command. 

“Martín,” Andrés said, with a snap of his fingers, calling his attention away from his daydreams. 

“Ready to go?” He asked, moving to turn towards the door. 

“I asked for your assistance with my tie. Perhaps we should clean your ears before we go out. Others might not be as patient as I, if you are unable to hear them tonight.” 

Martín snorted, his feet moving all too eagerly. Standing in front of Andrés now, he was capable of taking him all in. The carefully selected cashmere of his navy blue suit jacket sparkled with a shiny gloss, if he stood a certain way under the dim lighting of Martín’s apartment, mixed with the final rays of sun as dusk settled in to night. His jacket was undone, the collar of his sky blue vertical lined polo shirt turned up awaiting the slim, charcoal grey tie to be noosed around his neck. Andrés extended his hand to him, the slick material slipping through his fingertips and through Martín’s awaiting palm. 

“Do you always need other people to dress you? It must drive up your expense account.” 

Andrés’ right cuspid fell on his bottom lip, as he held his head up high, remaining perfectly still as Martín moved closer. He could smell the hints of something refined and fresh, tempted to lean in and inhale a deeper sniff. “Depends. Do you ever have your tongue in cheek?” 

Martín tied the knot, just enough to fall into place on Andrés’ neck without cutting off his airway. He glanced down, hands slowly falling down the other man’s chest until they landed on the two sides of his vest. His eyes fixated on his hands, carefully bringing the button through the hole. Andrés’ body seemed closer, enough for the warmth to be radiating off of him, encompassing all of Martín. He snatched his hands away, stumbling a step back before he could allow something other than his brain to take a hold of him. Traces of an amused, little smile haunted Andrés’ eyes, his hands flawlessly folding the collar of his shirt without the use of a mirror. 

He tapped the large, silver Rolex at his wrist, tilting his head through the door. “There is certainly a difference between fashionably late, and _ never _arriving at all,” he said, leading the way. As Martín followed, it was only then he noticed the grey of Andrés’ suit pants tied together with a black leather belt. His shoes were of the same material, the intricate details all attentively planned. 

His heart fluttered at the way they seemed to fall together as a matching set. Coincidence it may be, any eye turning to look at Andrés while Martín stood by his side would take note faster than he had. Traitorous thoughts were incapable of removing the rush of joy he felt, one promising, memorable night of his place being cemented at Andrés’ side. He could already hear the melody coming from guitar strings, passed between his ears. His head passed over his shoulder, consideration for shoving the black notebook and his favorite pen into his pants pocket, but he maintained his course. There would be time yet to compose words. 

The music from the party could be heard from around the corner. Vibrating notes moved with the car as they came to a halt on the half circle pebble driveway. Martín turned his head, watching as a shudder coursed down from the top of Andrés’ neck, down the path of his spine. He itched at his ears, as though he may plug them in a determined attempt to drown out ruckus. Whoever was on stage assuredly wasn’t anyone he signed to his name, or would ever consider. Exquisite taste, he remembered one of the first mentions of _ Fonollosa Records _ ever to cross his eyes had read. He opened his car door, moving with haste to do the same for Andrés. 

“Next time, I’ll sneak a couple of those yellow, foam earplugs in my pockets,” he promised, as Andrés stepped out of the car. 

“We’ve been here for five mintues and you’re ready to drown out _ me _ and my friends?” He teased with a twinkle in his eye, as he seemed to naturally lean closer to Martín. 

“Well, I don’t know about your friends yet,” he gleamed. Andrés chuckled in turn, as they walked side by side 

From the exterior, the tent appeared to be no more spectacular than any other found at a common garden party or wedding reception. The lights switched hues, setting a mood to the tempo of the music, assisting in the emotional delivery different lyrics evoked. But, the closer they stepped towards the perennial vines arching over the entrance, the more intricate details began to take definitive, unique forms. 

As he quickened his pace, high off the fumes of ambrosial and briny foods, he felt something heavy brush down his side, Andrés’ hand sliding off of his forearm. _ When _ had Andrés taken hold of him to prop him up, and how had he been so overwhelmed he did not feel it? He whipped his head back around, catching view of the pale flush in his cheek highlighted once more in the glow from the yellow light inside the tent. He took a few steps back, instinct driving him then, as he extended his elbow out from his side, available again should Andrés need it again. Andrés didn’t seem to notice the movement, focused on rubbing small circles in the middle of his chest with the tip of his left thumb, head turned to the left as he kept his eyes away from Martín. 

“Andrés, if you’re not okay--” 

“I’m fine,” he snapped, pulling his hand away from his chest. 

Still, when he tumbled forward tripping over his own feet, he dejectedly grasped onto Martín’s elbow once again, silently daring Martín to say a word and put an end to their evening. Their steps fell back into line, Martín’s peripheral vision maintaining constant supervision. For once, a loss of words overtook his brain as he became the support Andrés craved. Certainly, there was no ease in accepting he was no better off than a child, clutching onto their mother’s awaiting hand. He would not fault him for being unappreciative of the support Martín could offer. Their proximity was thanks in a way words would never suffice, anyway. He could feel the small shiver, a product of the cool spring air mixed with the other man’s illness or exhaustion, Andrés’ body gave away without permission, and his own body seemed to increase its supply of warmth. They proceeded, reaching the entrance way to the tent, the gala already in full swing without their presence. 

The center point of the tent cascaded down, opening wide to provide cover for the guests. Lights were projected on the cream material, carefully selected to fit the harmonies of the artist performing on stage at the front of the carefully constructed room. The currently warm pinks and purples dancing together in waves, as two nearly identical women took the stage. Mood music served as a cliche, trying to fill the void an artist was incapable of drawing from their audience alone. A point of pride came from his ability to have done well enough in a dimly lit, trash bar to grasp Sergio’s attention, and even more to have captivated his muse over the phone.

Still, as he twisted his head to look at Andrés, ever careful to monitor without giving too much away, he wondered how he could stand so tall, composed on his own except for his fingers still encased around Martín’s elbow. Andrés was still hesitant to accept his full support, but not enough to relinquish it altogether. His hold was relaxed, but ready to move and brace his full weight on Martín at a moment's notice, should he need it. 

He had to admit, perhaps there was some truth to the science and mathematics of designed lighting. He felt powerful and poised in Antonio’s shop, each light placed in a way to highlight craftsmanship. Now, he felt small movements in his stomach, gentle like the flaps of butterfly wings. He could hear down to the exact emphasis of the words Denver would use to mock him, should his emotions ever come spilling out of him. They were more prevalent than the warning his friend tried to issue: reassuring him if he wanted to cave, he should just give in. 

Martín smiled fondly, eyes darting around the rest of the room as he noticed Andrés’ head, slowly moving in his direction. 

“It’s not my taste,” he said, tapping Martín’s elbow with one finger as he pointed to the stage, gesturing to the slight mess required to optimize the room to fit the piano, black curtains, and push carts with speakers, ready to move in or away from behind center stage, dependent on the varying need of the different performers. 

Martín noticed the television screens on either side, black with rounded corners, providing a better view for those further away. There were several feet of floor between the stage and the first row of tables, allowing optimal room for a handful of participants to take advantage of the dance floor. “I think it has feng shui,” he shrugged. 

“It’s pretentious.” 

“_You _arepretentious, and I still think you look good.” 

Andrés stood taller, seemingly stronger at his words. Martín felt the knot form his throat, the overwhelming notion his words had any hold over the other man threatening to spill secrets from his lips. They’d arrived no more than ten minutes ago, and he was ready to throw everything on the line. It was far too soon, too daring a move to make. _ Friends _ , his mind berated him. They were _ professional _ friends, bordering on the promise of their friendship developing past one social construct if he could just behave. 

From the distance, he recognized rounded black glasses, sat on the face he knew all too well even with the new trim of his beard. Sergio, for once, appeared as though he made a solid effort not to stand out amongst the crowd. The chocolate wool of his suit appeared new, looking more fit to conform to the style of the rest of the paterons rather than his usual antiqued style. He twirled Raquel, her shoulders accented with a lace trim which decorated her dress, hair tied in a bun on top of her head, a few loose curls cascading to outline her head. The front of the room seemed captivated by their presence, the skirt of Raquel’s dress spinning as she did, their smiles bright. He tried to maintain his focus on the happy couple, hoping the distraction would prove enough to ignore the fact the other half seemed focused on _ them. _

Sergio and Raquel crafted their wardrobe to highlight the features of their partner. He and Andrés appearing to be two halves of a matching set was a happy accident. 

A sudden rush of cold made the hairs on the back of his neck stand, as Andrés’s fingers crept around his back. His hand planted firmly on top of Martín’s opposite shoulder, tucking him in tighter at his side. As the lighting changed to a deep sea blue, he could see Andrés’ lip curl into a snarl at the approaching woman. Her thin frame was wrapped in a strapless black dress, a low cut v-line leaving very little to the imagination. Her short hair allowed the thin line of diamonds, plated into earrings the shapes of leaves to trace her jawline, bangs coming down to the tops of her eyebrows. Even with the light peach of her lipstick, she commanded the air around her, as a force to be reckoned with, not underestimated. In another life, he might have thought the look elegant. But the way she carried himself spoke more to a viper, alerting his brain to stay on his toes. 

“Andrés, always the one to make a scene,” she smiled, though it never reached her dark eyes. 

“Tokio,” he replied, flashing his teeth. “I should have known they’d let just anyone in. Security was laxed at the door.” 

Andrés’ words were the least calculated Martín had ever heard. This was something more than a simple rivalry. He was less refined, hand squeezing Martín’s shoulder as he kept him planted in place. Shadows danced across his face with the light, but he wondered if their presence might remain even if the music were chipper. He was playing the defense, as though he were avoiding being backed into a corner he couldn’t fight his way out of, and Martín didn’t like it. He knew there were unavoidable times when this side would have a place in business, but this seemed to speak more to a weakness he was unsteady about. 

“This must be the famous Martín Berrote. Yashin was telling me all about you. I can see why Andrés would keep you on a leash.” 

“I wouldn’t refuse the privilege,” he replied, rising to the demands of the situation. He felt Andrés’ hand loosen up, but not move. His confidence surged, as his lips thinned into a controlled smile. His posture was taller, and he seemed to tower over both of them. Martín tried not to focus on the significance, it wasn’t important. All that mattered was Andrés was in control of the encounter. 

“You two do make a stunning pair. I would hate for this one to stray too far from the flock.” 

“There are still a few people who know a thing or two about loyalty,” Andrés replied, smirking. “Not everyone is so swayed by flashy lights and empty promises.” 

Tokio’s lips pursed, first the break the eye contact between them as she blinked once. “Yes, well, should the need ever arise,” she started, reaching into the small black clutch at her side. Her slim fingers pulled out a thin business card, black and underscored with gold highlights. She stretched her hand towards him, “I am always available.” 

Martín rolled his eyes then, swatting her hand away as though it were nothing more than a buzzing fly. “I think I’ve made it quite clear who I’m here with.” 

She stepped forward to place a chaste kiss on Andrés’ cheek, mock pleasantries as surrounding cameras to their sides and dotted around the room became evident. They could play the press to their advantage, wrap them around their finger to keep anyone from digging too far below the surface. While there were believable professional rivalries, this stemmed further. The amount of bad blood between them was more complex, wounds cutting deeper than either would probably care to admit. But, Martín didn’t need to know the details to fuel his commitment. 

“Enjoy the party,” she called out from over her shoulder as she began to step away. “And should you change your mind,” she whispered, closer to Martín’s ear as she stepped away, waving the card one last time before she placed it back in her clutch. 

Andrés’ hand lingered a moment after she was gone, fingers seeming to absentmindedly trickle down Martín’s back as they made their way back to his side. His throat tickled, a hum dramatically wanting to validate the delicate touches. Andrés failed to give him the option of adequate time to consider a response, instead snapping his fingers and guiding him to their table. They were seated close to the aisle, beautiful pale yellow name cards with strokes of meticulously written calligraphy marking their places in squid ink. 

The circular table, covered with a thicker white tablecloth underneath a pastel linen. Orange tulips filled the wide vase serving as a centerpiece. His fingers reached out to caress the soft petals, while ensuring they remained in their perfect form, not a single one bent out of place. He noticed then the different colors across the tables, directed around the room as if to represent a rainbow. There otherwise commonplace flowers tied the room together, sensitive to both the needs of the artist, whose teeth chattered from nerves behind stage, to the concentration of the producers and agents, giving both of pleasant rush of comfort. Flowers were something he never gave much thought to, but something about them were just right. 

“Do you know their meaning?” 

His heart fluttered as the words were spoken, almost directly into his ear. The centimeters between the skin of his earlobe and the brush of Andrés’ soft lips would be impossible to measure, too close to even guarantee it was there. He shook his head, as he leaned back into his seat. The rounded bottom was made comfortable on behalf of the thick, dark blue cushion, tied around the bottom of the pieces of painted white wood creating the crossrails of the chair. 

“I don’t care much for flowers,” he replied, eyes focused on Andrés who nodded once in response. “_But, _ I’m happy to learn.” 

He was quite certain he’d never seen the human equivalent of a peacock, but as Andrés turned towards him, he could only imagine tail feathers fanned out behind him. He could see Andrés, with precise posture, sitting in a plush armchair with a stack of books on a coffee table as he turned page after page, consuming insignificant details of a variety of topics. He’d make quite the pupil, and should the opportunity ever arise Martín wondered if he might borrow him for a lecture to highlight an exemplary student. 

“Their story roots back to Persian roots. They played a significant role in art and culture. A prince fell in love with a beautiful maiden, only to lose his love to death in an untimely end. When he followed her, red tulips grew from the drops of his blood,” he paused, twirling his thumb behind his fingers. “Red tulips signify a perfect love, as if such a thing exists,” he added, his words twisted as though someone were shattered pieces of him there and then. 

“I think it’s endearing,” Martín replied, after a moment of thought. His words were low and blocked, his body overcome with the need to take Andrés’ hand. He couldn’t imagine the reasoning behind the moments of passion and excitement his producer exuded, until they were tarred and tainted by something that had left him calloused and astringent. 

The words seemed to alleviate the mask of pain, poorly concealed on Andrés’ face: branching from the wrinkles set in with his frown, and the way his eyes seemed to shimmer with small pools formed in the corners. He reached out to touch the same petals Martín’s fingers had stroked only moments ago, mimicking the same motions with his own thumb, but his eyes fixated on Martín alone. The rest of the room seemed to come to a halt around them, the buzz drowned out. He opened his mouth to speak again, only to be interrupted. If his better judgement did not control his actions, Martín might have told Sergio and Raquel to fuck off to find another table. 

“About time you got here,” Raquel teased, taking the seat across from Martín. The light around her seemed pale in comparison to the one flickering around Andrés in their little moments of honesty. 

“Yes, some of us need more time to prepare than others. We cannot all be blessed with your natural beauty, Raquel,” he replied, maintaining her same playful tone. 

“Flirting with me in front of your brother and your _ date_?” She answered with a wink. Sergio’s face fell, as he quickly tried to silence the topic of conversation. Martín was grateful, as he tried to hide the red spreading to the fullness of his cheeks. Date was still the appropriate term in this context, even if the connotation was more romantic than the facts would allow. 

“Yes, I think we should move on,” Sergio said, waving his hand at one of the wait staff. He reached into the silver wine bucket, concealed next to the vase of tulips. “Martín, what do you think of the venue?” 

“Andrés seems determined on marking it pretentious, so I can only imagine what his parties look like.” 

Raquel laughed, her smile contagious for the group at the table. “We will make sure you are invited to the next one. At least you’ll never eat better.” 

“At least they aren’t tacky and _ themed,_” he replied, with a shudder. 

“Andrés, they may as well be with how over the top you get sometimes. It’s like stepping into a renaissance painting.” 

“I can only imagine the formal wear,” Martín replied, shaking his head. “There is nothing wrong with a good pair of jeans and a leather jacket.” 

“If you ever show up _ anywhere _ near me with a leather jacket, I will remove you from the label faster than you can blink.” Andrés tapped his hands as he finished delivering his poor attempt at a threat. His need to control every little thing bordered on neurotic, and enticed Martín to make the move with his wardrobe with precision. He might be able to get a laugh from Andrés, despite his promise, if done just right. 

“Yes, yes. I know it’s not in the _ contract,_” he droned, as the two locked eyes again. They simply smiled for a moment, before Andrés arched his neck, a chuckle pulsating up and escaping him, just as the current song dwindled to an end. If he could, he’d prefer to night to revolve around listening to the only things giving him any bliss. 

But, their solitude was over just as soon as it had begun. Raquel’s whisper to Sergio was enough for Andrés to snap back to the moment, surrounded by other people. He seemed to rip from the moment, taking the warmth and light away from Martín with him. Arguably, it was probably for the best. Everything was only serving to build his hopes up, with an unsteady foundation threatening to tip the tower over at any second. 

Things were simply better this way. 

The conversation hulled, as the empty space in front of them at the table was filled with beautiful porcelain china plate, cuts of the finest steak topped with the lushest green garnishes. The image on the plate looked almost too perfect to be disrupted. Martín carefully selected the appropriate fork and knife from their places, slowly digesting the food in front of him. The saltiness of the meat paired well with the bitterness of the red wine, another detail executed with rigor attention. He would have to ensure he gave his compliments to the chef. 

As dinners were finished, waitstaff rushed around the room to provide desserts and pick up finished dishes, the lights in the room darkened. A few of those already finished with their dining portion of the evening opted to fill the dance floor, the music slower and bringing the mood in the room down with it. Martín simply prompted his elbow up on the table, eyes watching the red and white dots of light filling the top of the tarp, giving just enough lighting to give vision and an enhanced meaning to the unchained melodies. 

But, the broken cough, snapped him back as he turned to look at Andrés. Sergio’s hand as on his brother’s hunched back, forming soothing circles as he took charge and coached him through it. Martín recoiled at the hard sound, wondering if this stemmed from something further than the common spring allergies. 

Raquel reached quickly across the table, tapping his hand and motioning her head towards the other dancing participants. “It’s best to give a little space,” she muttered, grabbing Martín’s hand without waiting to hear any potential objections. He followed her, keeping his head stiff to keep from looking back. He couldn’t imagine any additional sympathy would be well received on Andrés’ behalf, and too many people surrounding him would draw inquisitive eyes, intruding on something he wanted no one else to see. 

“Allergies?” He asked, loud enough to be heard enough over the music, but quiet enough to be contained to Raquel’s ears only. He gave her a soft bow, before extending his hand as they stepped onto the dance floor. He kept his hand on her waist, higher than required but enough to offer her his utmost respect for the small cut out in the back of her dress, avoiding touching her skin. She rested both of hers on his shoulders, mindfully, as though she wanted to respect more than just his personal space. He’d never considered Sergio the jealous type. 

“Yes, something like that,” she nodded. 

They moved in smaller circles compared to those surrounding them, Raquel humming along to the music and singing along to the chorus as though it were some old, forgotten tune. He wondered if possessing an ear for pitch and tune were a requirement before entering into the small family dynamic. For all this knowledge about the label, and the bits and pieces of things he was picking up on about Andrés, there was no indication the man possessed any raw talent himself. Producing was one thing, trapped inside the ear and connecting with the brain. But, statistics suggested Andrés had to be inadequate at at least one thing in life, so it fit to daydream there was something he could perform better at. 

“You’re fond of him, I think,” Raquel added, mindfully selecting her words. “Not many people are,” she added. 

He tried to keep the rush of words from spilling out of his mouth, instead focusing on a reply so simple there couldn’t be a hidden message. “He’s not so bad.” 

“No,” Raquel said with a nod of agreement. “Not once you get past his defenses.” 

She seemed to be serving as a romantic coach, and he felt his heart racing. The daunting thought of Sergio going home at the end of the day, speaking to her about him and Andrés, about the little looks he noticed coming from Martín, and the way his lyrics carried with just a line or two too much, made his feet quickly come to a halt. His movement nearly tripped Raquel, as he snapped back in the moment long enough to catch her in the dip. He felt his stomach church, as his eyes fixated on telling his feet how to move to a beat. 

“Relax.”

The command carried different weight, ranging on a scale from her desire not to be dropped on her ass, to the weight of a heavy boulder threatening to crush him. He wished again for the comfort of the little black book on his nightstand, his only consistent means of working through the tangled knot in his head. 

As he looked up once again, he used his control to slow their dance just in time to come to a stop with Raquel’s back to his little muse. Andrés lightly tapped Raquel's shoulder with one finger. "I think you'll find my brother is ready to turn in. It's far past his bedtime. Don't mind me cutting in."

“Yes, I agree.” Martín could see the curl of a sly smile, as she pulled away from him. She placed Andrés’ right hand over Martín’s left, planting a familial kiss on his cheek as she bid them both a goodnight. 

Martín’s bottom lip dropped, prepared to start asking a question his mind soon forgot, as Andrés’ hand found the small of his back. He pulled him in, Martín’s left arm dragged away from his body exquisitely, as Andrés’ smooth fingers folded over the space in between his. Even with the aroma of salt and bitter cherries hanging off his lips, Martín was consumed by the sophisticated and fresh, simple floral quality of his cologne. The smell twirled, commanding his brain to fixate on nothing other than the man directing his movements in time with the music. 

_ Remember those walls I built  
_ _Well, baby they're tumbling down  
_ _And they didn't even put up a fight  
_ _They didn't even make a sound_

Words were given far too much significance. Far too many times had he heard the old saying: _ the pen is mightier than the sword _. He believed in them, allowing them to become his mantra as his songwriting career began. Now, he would adamitely defend they were hollow. The tried to guard himself, tried not to focus on the way the wine stained Andrés’ lips red. 

“I... I wanted to ask earlier. Does color matter? With the flowers, I mean,” he stumbled through his words, almost as if he was bewitched by the way Andrés’ eyes glowed in the dark lighting.

He chuckled, pulling Martín closer to him. From this proximity, he could pick up on the hidden undertones of chypre. He closed his eyes, images of warm summer days and fresh fruits flashing. His racing heart was beginning to slow, and he drifted with the music, and _ with Andrés. _

_ You're everything I need and more  
_ _It's written all over your face  
_ _Baby I can see your halo  
_ _Pray it won't fade away_

“Yes. As you can imagine, red tulips mean passion,” his lips were dangerously close to Martín’s ear again, the breath catching in his throat as he nodded, trying to pay attention to the lesson. “Variegated tulips given to your subject of devotion tells you they have beautiful eyes. Yellow tulips are like the glow of the sun,” he mumbled, his head dipping dangerously low, close to resting against the curve of Martín’s shoulder. His heart seemed incapable of deciding if it should quicken the pace, or stop altogether. 

_ And I’m addicted to your light _ _  
_ _ I swore I’d never fall again _ _  
_ _ But this don’t even feel like falling _  
_ Gravity can’t forget _ _  
To pull me back to the ground again_

“And orange: _ orange _ represents the mutual connection between two people. Fascination. Understanding.” 

He smiled as he pulled his head away, their dance coming to an end almost as soon as it had begun. Martín kept his eyes closed, painfully aware of the minimal amount of space between them. Any breath filling Andrés’ chest made them brush together, and he couldn’t fight the feeling of the way they simply seemed to _ fit. _ He was afraid to look, afraid to see the smug look on the other man’s face as he took in his desired effect. Instead, he felt the palm of Andrés’ hand come to rest gently on his face. 

“You’ve been an excellent dance partner,” he complimented, stroking the bone of Martín’s cheek with the flat part of his thumb. “But, every waltz must come to an end.” 

He took a step back, the cold washing over him with the sudden emptiness. His eyes slowly blinked open, Andrés still so close but seemingly out of his reach. “Best get you home to rest,” he whispered. Andrés nodded, a touched smile on his face at the remaining level of Martín’s concern. They turned away from the floor, Andrés taking the lead as they exited the tent towards the car. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Halo, Lotte Kestner


	14. Belonging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I wrote chapter titles, this one would probably just be: THE PINING THE PINING THE PINING!!!!! 
> 
> Enjoy :) thank you for all the kudos and comments. Please keep them coming.

Andrés stopped, just before stepping into the car. He undid the buttons at the front of his jacket, taking it off one arm at a time. Perhaps it should be considered a great privilege to get to see him in the small state of undress, after Martín was granted the opportunity to knot his tie before they’d left his shabby apartment. It wasn’t the most wholesome of thoughts to be having about his boss, but the temptation was all too real after their dance. Andrés held him all too closely, unknowingly playing into every secret wish Martín kept close to his chest. He would be unable to move past the way Andrés’ fingers gently tapped the small of his back to the beat of the music, making it impossible for Martín’s attention to be anywhere but on him. 

Andrés folded the jacket over the arm, small bags more evident under his eyes even from a distance. He looked less authoritative without it, but no less the only glittering detail Martín would remember about the entire event. The exhaustion and sickness seemed to relax Andrés’ mind enough he might drift off in the back of the car, rather than scrolling through missed emails on his phone for a change. Martín might reach into his pocket and take his phone away from him, just to make sure he didn’t try to jump back into business. It would probably end with him getting thrown from the car, but it might be worth it to keep an eye on Andrés’ best interest. Without needing to be told, he was sure there were important things, such as getting enough sleep or spending a few hours without blue light hurting his eyes, Andrés simply forgot to do in order to keep the label thriving. 

He got into the car, pushing down his need to baby Andrés somewhere it would be forgotten about. They were both grown men, he had to keep telling himself. He’d done far more than expected of him back at the apartment, and rose to the occasion without being asked during the gala. The need to take care of him was overwhelming the rational parts of his brain, beginning from the moment he first arrived at Martín’s apartment. And the truth was hidden in the lies he told himself, praying they might dissipate any of his feelings: he liked caring for Andrés, almost as much as he liked the man himself. 

He focused on the details on the door handle, trying to move on from the different emotions pulsating through his body. The dance was short, compared to how long some of the other couples had been on the dance floor. While they were not the only two men, it spoke volumes about who Andrés was to be able to do it himself. He knew there was a certain image to maintain for the sake of his company above all else. He respected Martín enough as a musician to continue to be seen around him. This drove his stomach to do little flips inside of him, while his heart swelled. 

He allowed Martín to come to an event, as his guest, with his family also seated at the table. They would have a lasting business relationship, and perhaps the potential to allow their friendship to take place outside of the office. He was grateful for being so accepted by Raquel, so readily. She certainly must have her share of complaints about different performers, but there was a promising friendship in its own right between them. He wanted her to like him, because he planned on being in Sergio and Andrés’ lives for the long haul. Regardless of any offers hurling at him, he wouldn’t stray. His mind was made up a long time ago, but only confirmed with each opportunity to grace Andrés’ presence, or work with Sergio on his budding career. He owed them just as much as his natural talents and dedication were responsible for his success. 

He sighed, trying to keep the emotions bottled and contained. Only, as Martín turned his head to buckle his seatbelt, he had to pull back his head to keep from connecting his forehead with Andrés’ temple. 

The suit jacket was carefully hanging off of the seat on the far left of the car, leaving Andrés sitting right next to him. He tried to ignore the faint touch of their knees, brushing as the car pulled away from the drive.

“Is your jacket comfortable?” He asked, eyes still tracing all the small places where their legs touched. 

“It’s expensive, Martín. I didn’t want to get ruined on the long journey home.” 

“I’m sure you could buy a new one,” he replied. 

“I think I’ll keep that one,” he said, a tender smile brushing his features. His eyes moved to one of the buttons, as he carefully ran his thumb over it. “Sentimental value increases the worth of some things.” 

Martín felt him lean more into his personal space, and whether it was a conscious decision or not, Martín would be eternally grateful. Every excuse to get closer to Andrés, no matter how much it rendered his brain useless, was one he was willing to take. He tried not to think about how their hands were touching now, just barely as one finger each seemed to rest. They might have even overlapped, if not for Martín’s inability to sit still. He had felt the touch of a man he’d be interested in, more times than he could probably count. This felt different. He never felt anything as intensely as he did for Andrés. He was far more elegant and enchanting than any man he’d shown interest in before. He was suffering from a case of shooting high above his station, but it was harmless for now. 

He could bask in all of Andrés’ attention, until it was ripped away from him in one way or another. Some of the smiles or looks in his eyes warned Martín Andrés might be onto him. He felt like he was playing with matches, waiting for the right one to come along and burn him. He closed his eyes, resting his head against the window. The softer cushion of Andrés’ shoulder sang to him, promising to hold him close, but it lied all within his head. He could not take what Andrés was not willing to give. 

His heavy eyelids drooped, though he fought his best to stay awake. There was no conversation between them to stimulate his mind, and at least in his dreams he was free to admire his muse. Little lyrics or strings to play on his guitar might come to him, if his feelings were explored by his subconscious. He felt safe to sleep in the back of the car, knowing he didn’t have a habit of sleep talking, and wouldn’t be able to give himself away. 

As he gave in, eyelids closing, his skin tickled with the feeling of something gentle tracing the veins on the back of his hand. He sighed at the tender, doting feeling, snuggling more against the door as he continued to drift. The feeling moved slowly around his wrist, touching only the exposed skin, uncovered by his suit. He felt safe at the touch, craving more of whatever it was. Still, his eyes remained closed, far too exhausted to even try and take a peak. 

He could hear the introductory C and G notes, slowly moving into a longer string. Mixtures of Am and F played in his head, rearranging themselves carefully but not composing a completed song without his guitar in his hands, opening notebook and pen in front of him. 

_ Pen. _He could see the silver tipped calligraphy pen sitting abandoned on his desk at the university as he shot upright in his seat once again. 

Martín pulled at the top of his hair, frustrated. The phantom touch of something on his still tingled on the back of his left hand, as he cursed his own stupidity. He had forgotten the pen, sitting somewhere on the middle of his desk, or knocked onto the floor by now. He certainly hoped it was the first, knowing it would be lost to him forever by now, if left to be swept up. 

“Martín?” Andrés asked, surveying him carefully. 

“I forgot my pen.”

“We Can get you another pen, if that’s all it—“ Something in his eyes must have betrayed him then, because the next words out of Andrés mouth were—“Where did you misplace it?”

“I left it at the university. I had too much on my mind and I left it there.” 

“Can it wait until the morning?” Andrés asked, but Martín could barely hear him. It had been too long without it in his hands already, and a devoid disdain washed over him. How could he be so careless? The pen was, without doubt, the most vulnerable thing he owned. He was so occupied with the gala, and lost without any inspiration the last two weeks, he’d barely noticed its absence. Now, it was all his mind was capable of fixating on.

“Yes,” he sighed, dejectedly. The pen could wait for another day, it was just a pen after all. He had several others at home he could choose from, and write the words down on a page. His priorities would require him to rewrite the entire piece when his pen was back in his hands, but it would do. He couldn’t get a car from his apartment to the university this evening. 

But, he would toss and turn, unable to get comfortable in his bed. He would toss and turn, his mind consumed with nothing but concern for the helpless, abandoned object. 

“We’re not far from the university. I’ll have the driver take us now.” 

Martín looked up at him, struck to his core by the generosity. His face betrayed the words he clung to, not wanting to express the depth of his need to have his pen back as soon as possible. Still, without needing to be told, Andrés had taken care of the situation to tend to his needs. He fell back against his seat, breathing easier since the offer. “Thank you,” he whispered, as he tried to catch his breath. He inhaled and exhaled through his nose, but nothing calmed him quite like Andrés’ look of determination as he gave instructions.

As they reached the university, Martín quickly gave instructions on how to find his specific building. As the car came to a stop, he prepared to make a run in and out of his office. “I’ll only be a few minutes,” he promised, as he undid his seatbelt. “Any longer than that, and you can leave me.” He opened the car door with haste, trying to prove the sincerity of his words. Andrés was already being far too generous by making the short detour to the university. Martín knew he saw the action as a burden, rather than the best gift Andrés could offer him. He pat the empty pocket of his suit jacket, thinking of nothing but the feeling of his slim pen filling the hollow space. He cursed himself yet again, not believing how stupid he could be. 

A cloud rolled over the moon, making the night darker than it had been when they left the gala. The warmth of being wrapped close in Andrés, the stability of his arm around his waist, hand planted firmly on his back seemed like a lifetime ago. He shivered as it hit him in full, pushing the door closed behind him. Instead of the expected click, he felt the door push back against his hand. He turned his head to see just what part of the seatbelt he’d failed to adequately push back against his empty seat, now keeping the door propped open; instead, he found Andrés’ knee pressed against the door, as he tried to find his own way out of the car without hitting Martín by swinging it open too wide. 

“A little more space might be helpful, Martín,” he goaded as he continued to try and unfold himself out of the narrow opening, limb by limb. Martín stumbled forward, surprised Andrés seemed to be following him. If it were a warmer night, he might assume if Andrés were the type to sneak away for a quick smoke. But, despite his best efforts to hide it, he was still sick, and two bad decisions at the same time would only serve to worsen his condition. 

Even in the darkness, Andrés shone like he was Martín’s own personal sun. He could barely see the ground in front of his feet, or his hands if he outstretched them, but every detail of Andrés from his chiseled jaw, to the way the front pieces of his hair were beginning to break loose into their natural curl again, were evident in what little light they had. Martín looked at him, a ridiculous amount of yearning plaguing his heart, as he caught his breath. It was unfair someone to be so close to a picture of perfection, especially when that person was the boss he was falling stupidly in love with. 

“You don’t have to come,” he assured, taking a larger than necessary step forward. Andrés remained still, looking as if he might start scolding him then. Martín could only chuckle at the sobriety on his face which alerted Martín’s brain to the simple fact: Andrés would have stayed in the car if his predetermined intentions were not to follow him around the empty teaching halls of the science and technology building. Deep down inside of himself, a raw emotion he refused to give birth or name to planted itself, not to be budged, in the slow thumping of his heart. 

He tried to think of something, anything else, then. For starters, he wasn’t sure why Andrés felt the need to watch him. But, it didn’t stop the longing inside of him, the craving to reach out and loop his arm through Andrés’, as they began walking towards the long building in front of them. Andrés warmed his hands in front of his chest, before shoving them into his pockets as they fell back into walking side by side. Apart from the dance, Martín would willingly admit the way they walked side by side was his favorite part of the evening. 

“Did you go to university?” He asked, breaking the comfortable silence between them. The question rolled off his lips, barely audible. He was already stepping his boundaries between boss and employee by taking him to see another part of his life outside the studio. But, he couldn’t help his curiosity. 

“Yes,” Andrés said with a smile. “I received my Masters in International Business and Marketing, and I also studied Music Theory. I was top of my class.” 

“It might surprise you, but so was I,” Martín replied, a small spring in his step at finding a common ground. He knew so little about Andrés, and arguably it was probably best to know some things before his perfidious heart kept giving itself away with no solid foundation supporting it. 

“Oh? Why should I find that surprising, Martín? Do you not work as hard as I think you do?” He raised his eyebrow as he looked at him then, dark eyes playful as he teased him. “We may have to reconsider your contract.” 

“I was accused of being too unfocused,” he answered with a shrug. “It’s easier to focus on things I want to do.” 

“Do you not like engineering, then?” 

“I just always wanted to be a musician,” he answered, as they walked up the five steps leading to the front door of the building. He fished into his pocket, grateful he not only had the sense to bring his wallet to the gala that night, but also the foresight to keep his identification badge to unlock the door tucked away in one of the sleeves. 

“Why didn’t you pursue music earlier then? You’re gifted,” Andrés continued, as Martín opened the door for them. The carefully worded compliment was music to Martín’s ears. He rubbed at the skin on the top, surely grinning like an idiot as they walked through the halls. Though there was plenty of room, Andrés seemed to continue his pattern of invading Martín’s space, unprompted. If his hands were not in his pockets as they walked, they might have grazed Martín’s as his casually swung. 

“Not all of us are so lucky as to have the money.” 

“Don’t make assumptions,” Andrés corrected, curtly. “We may have more similar backgrounds than you think.” 

“And don’t be so quick to offense,_ pelotudo_, I did not specifically mean you.” 

Andrés looked rather pleased by the response Martín offered him. It was all the confirmation he needed to know nobody outside of his immediate family probably ever stood their ground against him. Andrés could blow anyone over, with the might of the strongest storm, unless he met an immovable object. Martín was braced for the winds, even with his growing attraction. He would continue to seek whatever interactions Andrés would be willing to supply him, and the only way was not to shrink away. After all, Raquel came off far more intimidating than Andrés, and he had done well befriending her only an hour ago.

“Is everything not always about _ me_?” His voice dripped with sarcasm and mock offense, as his hand flew out of his pocket to land against the left side of his chest. 

“We’re not in the office, so fortunately, no.” Martín grinned. “If anything, this night has become more about me than anyone else. You danced with me, and now you made a special trip just to pick up my pen.” 

“Don’t let it get to your head. You looked rather pitiful in the back of the car, and I’d hate to lose money if you can’t write over something so insignificant.”

Andrés words, meant in jest, cut away at a small part of him. For all Andrés knew, he was right. But, much like the small dolphin sitting on the coffee table in his apartment, the pen was far too valuable in sentiment. An explanation danced on his tongue, words he would offer up willing to a partner in the moment to explain just how profound the gesture was to him. While their conversation was their longest yet, it didn’t seem appropriate to shift the lively tone between them. Andrés did not seem the type to be interested in the tiny details, his personality one of ‘straight to the point’ rather than ‘fluff and filler.’

“Yes,” he mumbled, using his identification card once again to open the second door to his classroom. 

Though the smile was still on his face, Andrés must have read him like an open page all the same. He gently placed his hand on Martín’s shoulder, pausing his movements for a moment. “If it’s important to you, I mean no offense. I am more than happy to be of assistance.” 

“It’s the only pen I write with,” he offered as a means of explanation. 

“Must be quite the pen for you to be so committed. If only people were the same way.” 

“Have you ever considered keeping better company?” He asked in turn, finally stepping through the door. He flew as quickly as he could to the desk, overcome with the urge to begin his search. In a way, he’d almost forgotten it was his whole purpose in coming back in, this late at night. He allowed himself to become completely engaged in conversation with Andrés, about things he’d never really spoken to anyone else with before. 

He kneeled on the floor as he searched through the top two drawers, as it was not sitting plainly on top of his desk to make the task easy. His laziness and desire to run out the door on the last day of classes worked to his advantage. Though he had left the pen behind, he also left the drawers to his desk unlocked. He searched between the random sheets of paper, thorough in his efforts. 

Third time proved to be the charm, as he opened the final drawer. Sitting with a few specks of dust, his pen was in the middle of some stacks of papers he’d meant to get rid of weeks ago. He picked it up carefully with two fingers, before they coiled completely and held the pen close to his chest. He beamed, relieved it wasn’t lost in some garbage bag after being dropped on the floor. “I’ve got it!” He shouted, louder than he intended as he jumped back to his feet. 

Overcome with the need to find the pen, he lost track of Andrés. He hadn’t seen him follow him inside the classroom, but the door was closed. He turned, finding him instead walking through the lines of desks in the room as one might the art and sculptures in a museum. He wasn’t sure what was fascinating about the rows of white seats, covered by thin red material that hardly passed as seat cushions, and the black table tops. He never understood the color patterns chosen for the room, because he felt they never quite fit together. He could only imagine the long list of critiques Andrés would have, down to the specific A.D. year reflecting why the decision was such a poor one. 

Instead, he simply pulled out one of the chairs, at a desk in the middle of the classroom. He shifted as he tried to find the place he was most comfortable, before looking up at Martín with an inquisitive expression. “I am curious. Teach me.” 

Martín laughed then, pointing to the whiteboard behind him. Pieces of poorly erased equations remained, stains of different colors from the years dotted all around. “About engineering?” 

He shook his head, waving his right hand as he pointed to the black marker sitting on the pen tray. “I could learn about that anywhere. Teach me something more about you,” he said, as his finger drifted to point directly at the center of Martín’s chest. Even from a distance, he could almost feel the rounded nail pressing into him, as it tried to demand answers to his unspoken questions. 

Martín looked back at the board, longing to pick up the pen and write down equation after equation. He wasn’t certain he could comply with this request. He felt the other man creeping in, past the rail thin defenses he used to shield whatever sense his heart would allow. He was already in this far more than he ever thought he could be. Giving in now would be a mistake, and in the morning, he would surely regret it.  
  
“I think I’d rather teach you engineering,” Martín muttered in turn, nerves overcoming him. The small seeds of self-deprivation reminded him too strongly that Andrés’ increased interest could stem from far too many places for him to settle in on any sense of comfort. The heat of the lights beat down on him, in a way they had not for years since his first day of teaching had come and gone disastrously. 

“Am I not a worthy student of the great Martín Berrote?” The way Andrés’ lip seemed to puff out, but enough to suggest he would not beg, but still pulling on the strings he crafted unwittingly around Martín, cracked through the weak lines of his defenses. He would crawl across hot coals, only ask how high when told to jump, and give everything requested with little hesitation or a second taken to reconsider.

A few details about himself wouldn’t hurt anything. Andrés would probably forget them in the morning, the moment sun kissed his face and he rushed into the next task, his next responsibility. He was only choosing to humor Martín, the way he had done since their evening began. His heart ached, dull but none the less painful. He smiled through the pain, a tried and true practiced one from throughout the years. He reminded himself giving up a few details wouldn’t hurt him. Bigger things than that had hurt him, and here he still stood despite the storms. 

“Let us begin.” 

Andrés sat upright in his chair, hands folded neatly in front of him. “I’m afraid I don’t have a pen so I cannot take any notes. I’ll probably fail my exams, _ professor._” 

Martín rolled his eyes, so hard he would have sworn they could’ve fallen out of his head. If this was all going to be a joke to him, it was a game two could play. There were plenty of details about him, how he lived from day to day, what he had for lunch most days, or how his favorite color was dark green, he could supply much easier than anything that might scratch the surface, exposing the nerves under his skin and the way his heart beat to the way Andrés laughed. “I hate mint toothpaste,” he settled on. 

Andrés blinked then, but nodded along. “I don’t think you’re meant to like it, I just think you’re supposed to use it.” 

Martín’s tongue peaked out past his lips at Andrés’ quip. He probably should have opted for a more mature response to his, he was still rolling the dice trying to win this game. Andrés pinched the bridge of his nose in turn. “Please tell me we don’t need to also work on correcting your dental health? Brushing twice a day, flossing at least once, all of those things? Your apartment is in disarray, but I would expect better when it comes to taking care of yourself.” 

He saluted, pressing away from the desk to stand tall. “Yes, sir.” He relaxed his pose and said, “I don’t think it’s fair you’re not giving me anything about you.” 

“I like the smell outside after it rains. That’s already more than I need to tell you. You’re the teacher, I’m just your student.” 

He smiled, before tapping his chin to give the illusion he was thinking deeper about the next answer to the original question. He grinned from ear to ear as he said, “My favorite fruit is strawberries.” 

“The Ancient Romans considered the strawberry a symbol of the goddess, Venus. How romantic of you to pick such a delicacy.” 

“Is there nothing you don’t know?” 

He smirked, leaning forward on his palm. “I am well read. We could get you a few rentals to teach you a thing or two.” 

“I’d rather just keep listening to you.” He paced then, running his fingers over the tip of the calligraphy pen, tucked safely where he would not forget it in the office again. The silver felt cold against his fingers, the indents of his engraved initials speaking to him then. “My father bought this pen for me, the day he also brought home my first guitar.” 

“I see you’re finally taking this seriously,” Andrés replied, leaning back into his chair to listen attentively. 

Martín looked up at the ceiling, his grin melting into something more sincere. His hand stayed against the pen, as he tried not to focus on the meaning of Andrés’ attentiveness. He was giving him all of his consideration, all of his time, when they could have left minutes ago. Martín spent hours, months, and even years of his life within these walls and never had a class as meaningful as this small session between the two of them. Suddenly, he could talk for hours about the most insignificant details of his life, or candidly about the more serious ones. 

He pulled the pen from his pocket. With the short distance, Andrés wouldn’t be able to see every minute detail of it, but he would be able to see enough. He held it out, trying to give him the best view. His thumb and pointer finger held onto the rounded edges, just enough to keep his grip steady, but still allowing Andrés the best view he could offer. 

“The silver tip has a line of rose gold, you probably cannot see from where you sit. The silver was custom made, to have my initials instead of just the general maker,” he started, before dragging his left pointer finger to point to the body of the pen. The body was emerald green, with splashes of black creating a marbled effect. He spun the top portion off, as he continued. “It is a refillable pen, made to last.” 

“It is quite the gift. I have a few things from my mother, but nothing quite like that.” For the fondness in his words, Martín did not miss the hint of animosity, mostly reflected in the way his eyes scrunched at mentioning her. “The best was probably my dear, little hermanito.” The words forced his features back into a fond grin, and he wondered just what Andrés was holding back from him.

“And your father?” Martín questioned, as he started to put the pieces of the pen back together. His eyes fixated on the task, needing to give it his full attention so nothing was forced back into place and accidentally broken. 

“Never had much of one.” Martín envied the lack of scrutiny in the way Andrés delivered his response. He longed for the day he would be able to express the same sentiment about his mother. “Sergio’s my half brother, you see. But, by the time he came along I was past the days of wanting someone to tell me what to do.” 

“I have a hard time believing you ever wanted anyone to tell you what to do, no matter how old.” 

“There might be some truth to that.” His fingers drummed the desk, and the snicker escaping him matched the cavalier expression on his face. “I did get into my fair share of trouble when I was younger. Broke a law or two. Little ones,” he said, as he pinched his fingers close together to try and highlight the gravity of his sins. 

Martín snorted, as he placed the pen back in his pocket. “You, a little thief. I might have liked you better back then.” 

“I don’t think that’s true,” he argued. “I have only aged like the finest of wines, dear Martín.” 

“My father taught me to play, a musician in his own right. He tried his best to be the parent I needed and deserved. He stayed in an unhappy marriage until I left home to try and make the best of a bad situation.” 

The words shifted the tone, and were completely out of nowhere. He rarely shared this with anyone, and was quite certain the words never crossed his lips in front of any of his ex-boyfriends. It spoke volumes to the level of trust and confidence he held in their relationship, as well as his faith Andrés would use the knowledge well and not against him. There would be no judgement for this comment, no joke or turn of phrase to make light of his pain. It felt like a soft place to land, after so long of carrying it around by himself. 

“And your mother?” 

He laughed, nervously as he looked off into the distance. He’d barely had anything to drink at the gala, but something far more enticing left him with the same buzz. It could be anything, from the resentment he tried to let go of for years, to the way Andrés delicately asked the question, patiently waiting for a response on Martín’s terms. 

He was too far to turn back down, the honesty pouring out of him in a way it never willingly did. He could not shake just how good it felt to be so open and honest with him. “It’s not worth mentioning.” He bit his tongue, softly sighing as he corrected his own jaded words. “_ She’s _not worth mentioning.” He fell back at a small angel against the desk, using it to prop him up. 

“Sometimes, we are not protected well by those who should keep us closest,” he said, as he rose from his seat and pushed the chair in. He started towards the front of the classroom, approaching him as one might a frightened doe. 

His eyes welled with tears that would never be allowed to come. He had spent far too many years crying over the same sentiment, and he refused to give the past haunting him the satisfaction. “I was never part of her plan.” His voice broke, all the same as the words escaped his lips. Still, he felt safe, protected speaking them to Andrés then. 

Andrés looked at him, something far more than sympathy in his eyes. Without saying a word, he stood and took the place at Martín’s side. His hand gently came to rest on top of Martín’s, relaxing his grip he didn’t know he’d taken on the edge of his desk. He looked ahead, respectfully rather than out of some deep seeded need to avoid Martín’s eye. “Life seldom goes the way we plan.” He took a moment, as though for once he was uncertain just what to say. Martín appreciated the small act, his thumb moving to wipe away the unshed tears. “But, you are here now, where you belong. If you believe in such belonging.”

“I am rarely so lucky.” 

Andrés leaned closer to him then, the space between their arms nonexistent. He turned his head, leaning forward just enough to be able to look at him, with kind eyes and a smile warm enough to wrap around him then. Martín could simply bask in it, lose himself in it, allow it to consume him for all he cared. “Luck?” He repeated with slow turn, back and forth, of his head. “You don’t need it.” 

He pushed away from the desk then, as he walked towards the door. “I’ve kept you out late enough, I think, Martín.” He offered the words as an explanation, but Martín already knew he would chase that fleeting feeling trying to pull away from him without needing to be asked or told any reason Andrés could supply. He glanced down, his eyes tracing the place where Andrés’ hand had been on his only moments ago. He accepted it for what this was to him, then and there. It probably shouldn’t feel so good, to want to be lost in an embrace he would never have. But, it didn’t matter. None of it did. Not as he looked up, as Andrés pulled open the door, waiting for him. 

He couldn’t believe how quickly nearly a week passed since the gala. Still, the night stuck with him through the previous weekend, all the way up to Wednesday when he’d stopped by the recording studio to sample a few lines of the piece he was working on. Now, he carried the guitar case close to him. He’d taken what he felt was a well deserved day off in between, giving his mind time to relax. He was fueled enough by the performance on Wednesday, and arriving early this morning would allow him a little time to prepare before Andrés and Sergio were ready for him. 

During his performance on Wednesday, he felt more secure in his delivery. His nerves didn’t shake him as much, and for once, he allowed his eyes to keep stealing little glances of Andrés on the other side of the window. Sergio buried himself behind one of the computer screens, easy to forget about if he had not pushed Andrés slightly out of center frame as they worked side by side. 

_ Clock strikes upon the hour  
_ _ And the sun begins to fade  
_ _ Still enough time to figure out  
_ _ How to chase my blues away _

The song spoke to the burdens he shouldered alone, until he’d spoken of them to Andrés, alone in the office. The rest of the car ride back to his apartment was filled with a serene silence. When Andrés assumed his seat in the middle once again, he fell back into place closer to Martín, but somehow it felt necessary. Their topic of conversation shifted from a sort of game, to something thoughtful and honest. Their physical proximity to each other only made sense, even if there was no holding of hands or defined touches. The scene kept replaying in his head all the same as he sang. 

_I need a man who'll take a chance  
_ _ On a love that burns hot enough to last _  
_ And when the night falls  
_ _ My loneliness calls _

They congratulated him again as he finished his sample, telling him to make sure he kept working on it. He probably should have taken their advice at home with nothing to do the day before, but an extra hour before his recording time would be enough. 

He pulled up the door to the recording studio without giving it much thought, but stalled quickly before he fully entered. Perhaps his assumption it would be free to use was not his best one. After all, they had plenty of other artists signed to the label, who would all need to make use of the booths, especially with the upcoming shows. With only his foot inside the cracked doorway, he could not see who he was intruding on and figured it was best to keep it that way. He heard a low curse as someone tried to finish tuning their guitar, and was ready to turn around to ask Mónica if there was an empty office he could use, when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. His knuckles whitened as he gripped his guitar case, a growl resonating in the back of his throat. The strings were all too familiar, because they were _ his. _ He couldn’t believe his own stupidity at leaving another one of his belongings lying around, and had been so certain the book was tucked away with his guitar. He should really learn to check these things, before his valuable materials ended up lost to him forever. 

None of that mattered now, though. He threw the door open, stomping inside. He would tear apart whoever was daring enough to try and steal songs from him. The door crashed hard against the wall as it flung open, but it was not loud enough to stop the sounds of strings being played on the guitar. 

_ I've been in love and lost my senses  
_ _ Spinning through the town  
_ _ Sooner or later, the fever ends  
_ _ And I wind up feeling down _

The voice, not quite like any he’d heard before, stopped him in his rage. Now he was fully inside the door, he dropped his guitar case to the ground with a _ thud _. His eyes opened wide, body glued in place as he simply listened. Andrés wore a simple, green polo, tucked into black slacks. He carefully held the red guitar across his lap, sitting slightly hunched over his instrument. His brain couldn’t calculate what he was seeing, or what he was listening to. The little black book was on the other side of the music stand, and the performance didn’t seem like Andrés’ first attempt, his eyes only glancing up on occasion to catch a word or note as he played. 

_ I've done alright up till now  
_ _ It's the light of day that shows me how_  
_ When the night falls  
_ _ Loneliness calls _

Martín’s throat constricted, his brain unable to even communicate the basic need to breath. His delivery was not the performance he’d ever seen, but it didn’t matter. He held his guitar with care, even if he was seemingly out of practice. Andrés sang the words Martín had written about _ him_, and he definitely didn’t know if he could just play them just like this. He wasn’t sure what Andrés’ objective was here, but he didn’t care. He could sing every last one of Martín’s songs, so long as he never stopped. To Martín, Andrés’ performance was the most beautiful gift from the Heavens above. Critics be damned, he had never heard a more beautiful sound.

Until, “good afternoon, Martín. I think we need to pin things to you, you might lose your own head if it wasn’t attached to your body.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I Wanna Dance With Somebody, cover by Matt Alber
> 
> Wow, this was quite the chapter I wrote. It was more emotional than I intended, but I hope you all enjoyed it all the same!


	15. I Wanna Dance with Somebody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HALFWAY POINT :D 
> 
> Alright, who is ready to know the thoughts running in Andrés' head? 
> 
> I really hope this keeps the tone and does justice to ELT!Andrés. He's such a tricky bastard to write in character.

Martín’s perfect punctuality was inching closer to being one of Andrés’ favorite things about him. He was already getting ready on the other side of the glass by the time he made it downstairs, after another tedious conference phone call with his investors, followed by the meeting with his agents and their assistants about upcoming summer tour schedules and ensuring the importance of the finalizing details. He kept glancing at the clock at the back of the conference room, to the simple silver watch secured around his wrist until two o’clock came, after dragging each millisecond longer than the next to give the impression it might not ever arrive. He cracked open the door to the recording booth, closing the door behind him so his arrival did not break Martín’s concentration. He preferred the moments the other man was yet unaware of his presence. His hands held his guitar with all the care in the world. His calloused fingers protected him in turn, and Andrés wondered momentarily if the skin ever cracked, the beauty of his music only coming after some pain.

He glanced at his own hands, then longingly back at the guitar. He’d committed himself to work, going far too long without playing any instruments himself. If not so concerned for the focus Martín needed to go through his motions, he might have interrupted just to see if he could take the guitar on his lap away from him, even momentarily. Though, he knew better than to give away too much of his own abilities. He wasn’t sure there was still a single person, beyond Sergio, left in his employ who knew of his rudimentary musical affinities. 

Martín might be worthy of the secret, after allowing himself to so willingly open up to Andrés, the pages of an open book available only to him. But, Andrés was not in the same position where he needed to give anything of himself away. He shouldn’t have pressed so far back at the university, anyway. 

Truthfully, he’d pried Martín open, despite his hesitance, because it was something he wanted for his own purposes. The humoring should have been enough to suit what he was after, and he normally would have let the topic go if anyone else were to jump to humor instead of immediately complying with his request as he demanded. He should have called it off when he saw the shine in those deep blue eyes, Martín’s fingers wrapping around his calligraphy pen. It had opened a chasm, and allowed Andrés insight to tiny things that made Martín tick. It shouldn’t have been so captivating to hear some of Martín’s deep guarded secrets, his story probably similar to many other people out there in the world. 

He shook his head, unspoken words chastising him for even a moment of considering Martín as anyone ordinary. As he looked up at the other side of the glass, he was greeted with, “Good afternoon, Andrés.” Martín’s face was beaming under the lights. Nobody ever looked good under those lights, by design. Andrés wanted a certain level of discomfort, and needed it to test the limits of his performers. If they could not handle it in the safety of the studio, they would never be worth the investment. 

He wanted to wipe the matching smile he felt plastered right off his face, crumple it up, and smash it into the ground. But, Martín’s warmth was too infectious, even across the distance. While it seemed to always exist, something always shifted to increase the intensity, and he wondered if Martín had any control over when that happened. 

He turned his head to focus on the computer systems, but left the speaker on all the same. “You look like you’re feeling better.” Martín continued, the words reluctant. At least one of them knew there should be more boundaries in their professional relationship. 

“Yes, plenty of rest and fluids the past few days,” he replied. He still couldn’t bring himself to look at Martín again. He remembered the raise of Martín’s eyebrow, mouth closed as he’d observed him, before springing to action. His arm wrapped around Martín’s neck, leaning into him for support should have been humiliating. He’d tried to pull away, determined to show he was capable of existing on his own. But, Martín’s determination to be of assistance rose to meet his own stubbornness, and won out in the end. He’d been too crippled then, his lungs heavy and chest tight. He took the time the past few days to keep to his treatment, if only to try and save face with Martín. 

“I worked on a new piece,” Martín said, demonstrating a few of the strings. 

Andrés glanced back at him, momentarily turning off the speaker to allow a low sigh of disappointment to escape his lips. His shoulders dropped, as Martín’s eyes were no longer following his every move. He _ should _ be glad they stood a chance at moving past the friendliness, to focus on the music. After all, they needed to continue to promote him if he was ever going to gain any traction. He shouldn’t miss those eyes watching him like he was the most important thing in the room. While he always craved attention, this was his business and he knew how to prioritize better than this. 

Sergio pushing open the door to join them couldn’t have come at a better time. He pushed his chair to the side, making room for his brother to join him at the table. “Martín, Andrés,” he said with what could be interpreted as a teasing smile, if there was some cause for it. 

“Good afternoon,” Martín replied, politely. Andrés sat a little taller in his chair as he noted Martín keeping his focus on the music stand in front of him, instead of sparing a moment to look at Sergio the way he had looked at him. 

“Ready to begin?” He asked Martín, finger skirting around the buttons on the control panel, ready to capture the music. 

_ Clock strikes upon the hour  
_ _ And the sun begins to fade  
_ _ Still enough time to figure out  
_ _ How to chase my blues away_

It was easy to fall victim to repetition, especially amongst new artists. In a way, they needed to reproduce their sound in order to set up patterns, to become familiar to form an association with their audience. Still, it lacked passion, it lacked the daring risks which drove Andrés and his original desire to take his own chances with the building the company. Martín maintained his artistic integrity, able to build something familiar to his style, while offering something new to his pieces in a way he’d never seen. 

He grinned at Sergio, moving his head closer to whisper respectfully, even though Martín wouldn’t have been able to hear them anyway. “He’s going to be our best performer, at this rate.” 

Sergio nodded, adjusting a few of the knobs on the control panel to adjust the volume, seemingly in an attempt to drown his words out. “You’ve never signed anyone who didn’t have the right potential.” 

He scoffed, turning to look at his brother better. “This is different. Your ears still work, don’t they Sergio? We’ve corrected things, worked on little ways to improve his music. But, he hardly needs us. Normally, our artists come to us sufficient, but need months of work.” 

“Nobody is perfect, not even Martín,” he reminded him. Sergio’s focus remained on his task, his responses on autopilot. He pulled his brother’s hand away from one of the dials, as he motioned in the direction of the man on the other side of the glass. 

“Listen.”

_ I need a man who'll take a chance  
_ _ On a love that burns hot enough to last  
_ _ And when the night falls  
_ _ My loneliness calls_

Sergio pulled his hand back, rubbing his temples before he turned back to his work. “I know he impresses you. He impresses me too. I still have a job to do, Andrés.” 

“I was simply trying to compliment your work. It was you who discovered him, after all.” 

“Then give me a compliment, instead of fangirling about him,” Sergio replied, a hint of mockery in his tone. Andrés’ eyes narrowed then, twisting his chair so his view was on his computer monitor alone. There was a difference between his respect for the craft, and teenage girls screaming at a performance. If Sergio was incapable of sensing where his sentiment for the performance stemmed, it wasn’t his job to spell it out for him. He should know well enough, after all the years they’d spent. Perhaps his last acquisition for the company was the max out on his talents, and Andrés would need to find a replacement to fill in for his brother. 

“Let’s take it again, from the beginning,” Andrés said, as the song came to an end. He could give his brother the benefit of the doubt, there was always the chance he needed to be more objective. He’d been spending too much time with Martín, and any personal relationship shouldn’t affect his opinions. Logically, he knew Sergio was only keeping an eye out for the best interest of the label, and their artist, by thinking more critically. It was his job to do the same, on a larger scale. 

By the time Martín prepared to leave the studio, Andrés felt more secure in his opinions. Like anyone in his position, he could hear little adjustments needing to be made, details needing to be fixed, or lyrics which needed to be reworded. Perfection was something to be strived for, but never completely obtained. One could always improve, always find little ways to be better. There was nothing worse than becoming stagnant. Andrés demanded himself to be constantly on the move, looking for ways to create changes and improve, and he would tighten his hand to require Martín and any of the other artists to do the same. 

“You’re progressing well. I think by the end of the summer, we can move you around to open on a few tours.” 

Martín nodded, his humble grin enough to rip away all of Andrés’ deeper concerns since his short discussion with Sergio. He felt ready to let go of any of the decent arguments his brother made, the gentle reminders they weren’t just fans in the crowd. He stood taller, trying to center all of the things running around in his head. 

“Thank you,” Martín said. “It’s still hard to believe this is actually happening, sometimes.” 

His fingers twitched at his sides, longing to reach out and reassuringly touch Martín’s hand. Lesser artists were far more egotistical or conceited where they shouldn’t be. But, his words would have to be sufficient enough in his new determination to reestablish professional boundaries. “Keep working at it, Martín. Always find little ways to stay competitive.” 

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” he assured. Andrés smirked then, unable to control it at the show of Martín’s confidence. He went to speak again, only to be interrupted by the vibrating of Martín’s phone in his back pocket. “I have to take this,” he offered as a means of apology, grabbing his guitar case, as he moved to make his exit. Andrés grumbled at the pained feeling in his stomach, the result of his annoyance at an improper farewell. 

Sergio stayed in his spot behind the table, working on combining the different, finalized pieces of the song they’d recorded. Andrés moved to stand behind him, monitoring the changes carefully. It was only from this new angle he could see Martín’s notebook still resting on the music stand. He rolled his eyes, before moving inside the booth, picking it up to take back out with him. 

“I’m not sure how he just loses everything,” Andrés said, stepping back out and waving the book in his hand. “We had to make a special trip to pick up his pen from the university after we left the gala.” 

“His pen?” Sergio asked, raising his eyebrow. 

“He only writes with a calligraphy pen his father had made for him. We were in the area, so we stopped to get it for him. None of it must be that important, if he leaves it all behind.” 

“Probably just forgetful,” Sergio mumbled, still not looking up at him. Andrés didn’t miss the little smile on his face though. “I can lock it in my office.” 

Andrés brought the book closer to his chest, mindfully holding it against him. His thumb stroked the cover, as he said, “I can keep it with me. I found it after all, doesn’t that make it mine?” 

Sergio rolled his eyes. “Maybe, if you’re five.” 

He clicked his tongue at his brother with mock annoyance. “I can take care of it. Don’t stay too much longer, Sergio. I’d hate for Raquel to call and chew me out.” 

Arriving back at his house, he immediately headed upstairs to change into something warmer. Martín’s book was held delicately in his right hand as he walked up the stairs. Even with the main room light on, and the mixed reds and oranges of the sunset outside, everything still seemed very dark in his house. If it made any difference to him, he might have made a note to call an electrician. It seemed to fit the aesthetic of his house for everything to be dull and grey. He was the only one in these halls most of the time, anyway, and he tried to only be here to sleep or read. He opened the door to the smaller room next to his bedroom, deciding his study was the safest place to keep track of Martín’s book. The art and trinkets he’d collected throughout the years would make good company for the most valuable possession to ever grace the room’s presence. 

After he created a small dinner for himself, his thoughts returned to Martín’s performance. The music replayed in his head, distracting him from doing anything productive on the work laptop he kept downstairs. With the free time, he opted to head back upstairs, giving in to his first opportunity to read something he enjoyed for the first time in two months. 

The little black book drew all of his attention the moment he stepped back through the door to his private study. Such an insignificant object shouldn’t hold so much power over him, blinding him to just about anything else in the room. He should have set it aside, somewhere on his shelf where it wouldn’t serve to be so much of a nuisance. Alternatively, he simply should not have brought the book home with him. His office at the studio was just as secure, door locked with a key only he had a copy to. The building was under surveillance, and he always typed in the code to turn the alarm on before he’d left. Still, someone might have been capable of getting through all of those defenses, and while Martín was fine with leaving things sitting around where anyone could take them, the thought did not sit as well with Andrés. 

He browsed one of the shelves, positioning himself as far away from the walnut desk as he could. His finger traced down the spine of a couple different books, carefully examining each, and even pulling some out. His potential reading material for the evening did nothing to get his mind off the shiny, leather bound book. No matter how beautiful the covers of his private collection of novels, art books, and textbooks. He skimmed his options, determination fueling him to find something, anything else to keep him occupied until he would be able to sleep. But, even the bright orange cover of _ Flying Too Close to the Sun_, dulled in comparison. 

He turned his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as he looked at the enchanting little book. Martín played each song he wrote in there, when he felt they were ready. Andrés should be willing to trust in his judgement, knowing all too well the craft was a process and not simply putting words and notes down on a page. But, the book continued to speak to him, enticing him to open the pages and break the boundary. He grumbled under his breath, stepping over to one of the other shelves where he kept his personal selection of drinks, desperately in need of something to shift his mood and his attention for the evening. He browsed the bottles meticulously, as if one of them held the answer to his dilemma. The golden yellow of the Springbank seemed most promising. He picked up one of the ascutney old-fashioned tumblers, forcing himself to become lost in the simple task he’d had plenty of years of practice doing. He swilled the whiskey around in the glass, trying to allow the nose of the whiskey to overtake his senses. But every attempt to create a distraction was proving fruitless. The lingering saltiness of the smooth liquid was all his taste buds picked up on, furthering his irritable attitude. 

He placed the glass back down, unfinished and sloshing back and forth from the force. The liquid stayed contained within the glass all the same, and he reached for the leather-bound book, far too quickly. He slowly lowered himself into the large black executive low-back chair, eyes focused on the object in his hands. It was driving him mad, controlling all of his inhibitions and he just couldn’t bring himself to care. He was renowned for his selfish tendencies, but he knew somewhere he couldn’t quite reach, this was something more than wanting to make sure Martín’s work couldn’t sink his company, and certainly not some need to violate Martín’s artistic privacy. The book teased him with the promise to answers for every stray thought and every rogue emotion he was incapable of comprehending on his own from the past few months. Complicated pieces to a puzzle he had no picture of would become clearer, somewhere in the pages of this book. 

He pulled up the recording catalogue on his home computer, Martín’s file saved to the opening screening alongside a few select others. While the words could be read and carry an emotional weight on their own, they simply meant nothing to him without the sound of the musician’s voice adding an extra sense of depth. The music played by the master deserved the full experience, not just the treatment of an ordinary page of a book to be lost in. He closed his eyes, as he leaned back in the seat. His right hand settled on his mouse, all too ready to make the decision he’d be prohibited from turning back from. His left thumb tapped against his lips, teeth grazing the skin on the tip lightly. 

He smiled, finally resigned to the influence of the beckoning, thin pages. 

He selected one of the two songs which haunted him in the rare, quiet moments he had to himself in his empty house. He leaned forward once again, carefully opening the hardcover of the book. The spine was already unfastened, but not completely broken from all of its use. He would return the book in just as pristine a condition, probably with a chain around it to keep it close to Martín’s chest from here on out. 

Though the music filled his ears then, his eyes remained focused on the beautiful strokes of ink on the white pages. Each line was just as neat as the last, nothing lost to a sense of urgency. His fingers traced one of the letters, smiling fondly as he did. Far too few of his performers took such pride in their work, particularly when they needed to include any labors of love into their words. Martín continued to astound him with every minuscule detail, and his increasing knowledge about the other man was almost enough to make him slam the book shut, there and then. 

_ Ever since the other night  
_ _ I've been thinking 'bout the way you smile golden  
_ _ Wanna move inside of your light  
_

Dim lights flashed across his memory then. Martín’s chest, barely moving as he kept his breaths contained within him. He didn’t know what to say to try and persuade his fears away, opting instead to try and steady them into the rhythm of their dance. The feeling of their hands intertwined had melted Andrés, the fleeting concern for his image whisked away as they started moving as one. He’d known in that moment, the soft music playing, he could glare down anyone who dared try to use the peacefulness of this moment away from him. He had gone so long without a truly reassuring touch of another person, the tattered pieces of his heart he’d sloppily thrown back together in the wake of his difficulties for the last year always missing something. He’d thrown himself in finding it: through losing himself in his work, late nights at the office keeping him productive until his body was ready to drop into restless slumber, through the company he kept though it often felt far too cheap. 

_ Ever since the other night  
_ _ I've been thinking 'bout the way you smile golden  
_ _ Wanna move inside of your light_

Martín was affectionate, almost naturally, from the moment they’d met. Everyone else treated Andrés like he was something to be feared, someone they were incapable of getting comfortable around. Perhaps it was what some part of him wanted, especially after the tremendous loss he’d suffered, the terror still haunting him from the way he’d almost lost everything he’d tried so hard to build. Sergio and Raquel were different, but they were not _ his _, not in the way he needed. His brother worked diligently through the last years as his mind worked frantically; Raquel tried her best to keep her endurance around him, which he’d never made an easy task. There was no denying the love his family held for him. It was just never enough when they went on to their own lives, and he was left in his solitude. 

He ran a hand through his hair, damning the traitorous thoughts repeating over and over again, flashing at him like red warning lights. His first opportunity for having a new, genuine attachment shouldn’t have come from one of the artists assigned to the label. It blurred too many lines, going down roads he’d been before. 

But, the way the words spoke to him seemed as though they were an extension of his person. Martín was unlike anyone he’d ever worked with before. Martín did not have what it took to appear to be one person to his face, and someone entirely different behind his back. Martín stood by his side as Tokio tried to dig her claws into some minor self-doubt he had about the label, about _ him. _ Martín’s eyes only reflected disgust at the offer to walk away from his established commitment.

He cursed at the overwhelming sentiment. He was unwilling to consider what all this meant, what he _ hoped _ it was defined by. 

_ What have I done? _  
_ Oh no, what have I done?  
_ _ You be brave for me, now _

His ringtone managed to break his concentration from Martín’s song, and he growled annoyed. He didn’t need to reach into his pocket and look at the screen to know it wasn’t worth answering. There was only one person willing to interrupt him at home, this late in the evening. He supposed it was his own fault for extending an almost open invitation, his inability to form boundaries the culprit to blame yet again. Still, she could wait until the morning with Martín’s music still serenading him. It cut just as quickly as it began, and he leaned back in his chair, holding the book up carefully with both hands. He turned through the pages, carefully considering which song he should play next. The older ones at the beginning didn’t call out to him the same way Martín’s newer songs did. They were good, but the string of inspiration Martín discovered in the past few weeks elevated his talents. Andrés would have to ask him more about the next chance he got, an overwhelming need to know further details beating out the alarms still trying to flash in his head.

Before he could settle on a second song, his phone started to ring again. This time, he pulled his phone out of his pocket to ensure the call was not something more important. There was always the possibility Sergio needed him for work, or something was going on with Raquel’s job. He was hardly the ideal babysitter, but reliable enough for the three of them when the occasion called on it. The name confirmed his original suspicions, and he placed the phone down beside the computer. Any other night, he might be willing to humor her, or even answer and allow her access in the house, and enjoy her company for a few hours. He had been seeing less of her in recent weeks, recalling on one hand the amount of times he’d seen her since the party at the vineyard. She was probably annoyed by the lack of attention, but she had to understand his attention could not only be devoted to her. It was part of their arrangements, after all.

He opened the page to the start of Martín’s beautiful piece he played on the piano. The words on the page were just as beautiful, but there was a new detail he immediately noticed. He put the book back down on the table, as he looked at the words staring back at him. There were little notes in crafted margins, insight to Martín’s muse he had been so curious about only moments ago. Only, now his actions seemed past even his limits, far too invasive without explicit permission. Still, the little twinge of jealousy in his stomach as the words gave him only fleeting impressions of the person Martín idolized were enough to make his fingers curl. Martín felt far too deeply, and the pang of Andrés’ heart settled in as his own need to adore, and _ be _adored in the same way, started to creep up on him.

He did not hesitate to answer the phone this time at Tatiana’s call. His emotions were overpowering him, and he could not shoulder their weight. The distraction was much needed, and if she was taking the time to call him for a third time, there had to be a reason. It didn’t need to be a long phone call, if it served no purpose but to pester him. He locked his computer screen, leaving the book behind him as he headed towards his bedroom.

“Andrés,” she said, cheerfully, and he wanted to hang up already.

“It’s late, Tatiana. Can’t it wait until the morning?” 

“We have our meeting in the morning to go over my contract renewal,” she reminded him, before continuing. “I was just thinking about a few of the upcoming theatre performances we’d discussed months ago.”

“And those plans can’t wait until morning either?” 

He could almost see the little puff of her lip, and the sad look of disappointment in her eyes on the other end of the line. She didn’t pull that move often, and only ever teasingly, but he grumbled under his breath all the same. He enjoyed her company, certainly, but only when he deemed it necessary. He kept far too busy for much social interaction, his free time spent with his family when he could get away. But, they all needed their occasional time away, which never left him with many options. 

“Hardly the best topic of conversation for work,” she replied. He nodded, appreciating her attempt at reminding him about boundaries. “How are the new artists?” 

He pinched his nose then, her words reminding him of things he already knew. While Tatiana worked harder and was generally more agreeable to be around than most of his other artists, they had a faux level of trust between them. She complained less about him and his expectations than the others, but her willingness to speak so freely about what happened behind his back served as an indication of her ability to do the same just as easily about him. 

“Tatiana, you know I can’t tell you much about that,” he chided, with a snicker as he attempted to keep the lighthearted tone between them. “Try again.” 

“We’ve all noticed your new favorite, Andrés. I just wanted to hear all about him.” 

He could have hung up there and then. Something in her tone shifted, beyond simply being envious. If she wanted to play games, she would have to do it without including Martín. “_Goodnight__, _ Tatiana.” He hung up the phone before he could listen to any objections, walking back into his room. He pulled back the duvet and sheets, before crawling down on his bed. He didn’t want to understand his drive to act so defensively whenever anyone started to open their mouths about Martín. It started from the way he’d nearly dug his fingers into Martín’s shoulders, to his quick rising temper when Sergio did not respond the way he wished, and now with Tatiana trying to get a leg up on her competition. 

None of it sat well with him, and his lack of an explanation would end up keeping him up all night, as he tossed and turned. 

Friday morning was off to a better start than the last day and a half since he’d been interrupted by the phone call. His mood was elevated enough from the moment his feet touched the ground of his bedroom floor, even without the strength of his Kao Jai coffee motivating him to get out the door. While it was always difficult to walk away from the office for an extended period of time, the promise of turquoise water and pristine beaches always won out in the end. He would end his week on the high note of only two meetings for the morning, and one recording session in the afternoon. It wouldn’t be anything new, and that alone should be enough of a reason to keep him from attending the session. But, offered a way to make justifying taking the next ten days away with minimal access to his work portfolio 

The little idea popped into his head, somewhere around midmorning. He kept Martín’s notebook close to him, mindful not to leave it around the same way he had. It would be the perfect way to remind him to be more attentive to his life’s work, instead of leaving it abandoned where anyone could take a look and cheaply imitate his words. Perhaps it wasn’t really his place to try and find a way to completely drive his point across instead of simply telling Martín as much, but Andrés found the opportunity amusing to turn down. 

That was how he found himself with one of the spare guitars across his lap, Martín’s book in front of him. The newest song appeared to be the easiest for how out of practice he felt, though he briefly considered the possibility of taking on more of a challenge. He’d decided against it, wanting the moment to be about Martín’s forgetfulness, not his. 

He practiced the notes for a while, focusing on remembering how it felt to have the nylon strings pulled against his fingertips. At least no one was there no, to see him stumbling through the motions. Still, it was funny how easily some things clicked back together, the body remembering more of what the mind easily forgot. He found his own rhythm as he tapped his supporting hand against the bottom of the guitar. When he was ready, he started singing the lyrics accompanying his music. He shifted on the stool, taking time to make sure he remembered to breathe enough to keep his voice from wheezing or getting raspy. 

He heard the door slam shut, and smirked. He refused to look up until he’d finished the words, too lost in just how good it felt to be playing again. He felt the tension dissolve in the room, almost as quickly as it came, Martín’s immediate offense was quelled when he recognized who was singing. Andrés could feel the warmth pooling in his cheeks as he smiled at the unexpected reaction. It shouldn’t feel this good to be admired by Martín. 

When it was least expected, he finally greeted him. “Good afternoon, Martín. I think we need to pin things to you, you might lose your own head if it wasn’t attached to your body.”

Martín opened the door to the recording booth, shaking slightly as his right hand pinched the back of his neck. “I’ve had a problem keeping track of things my whole life,” he said, sheepishly. He kept his eyes turned to the side, flushing pink. Andrés chuckled, his own smile only growing at the sight.

“Yes, like I said, we will need to pin it to you. Would you prefer a gold necklace?” He strummed the notes on the guitar as he continued, “Though, silver might suit you better.” 

“I think I’ll just slow down instead of running away,” he promised. Andrés hated how his laugh was just as easy to get lost in as listening to him sing. He felt content knowing he was responsible for the flush in his cheeks and the grin of Martín’s face. 

“I would do that, if I were you. Imagine if someone else had found your book. You would be out of a job.” 

“It seems I already am,” Martín replied, gesturing to him still holding the guitar. “Perhaps I’ll move my things into your office, and you can take my guitar home with you. I think I’d like to live in your lavish shoes.” 

Andrés shook his head, continuing to play the strings of the guitar. Martín took a few steps closer, observing quietly and appreciating the moment. His arms were crossed over his chest, the smile never leaving his face. Andrés wished he could hate how intoxicating it was having Martín’s attention fully devoted to him, enjoying the moment instead of participating only because he wanted to earn any good graces by entertaining Andrés. 

The guitar string snapped against his finger, cutting off the flow of music sharply. “Shit,” he grumbled, irked by the simple inconvenience. It wouldn’t be so bad, if Martín had started laughing so loudly at the noise. 

When Andrés glared up at him, he only snorted in return. “Guitar strings are easy to break,” he reminded him, playfully. “Not everything has a secret agenda against you.” He took the guitar, moving to stand it up against the wall. 

He shook his head, the breath caught in his throat at Martín’s jest. The guitar might not be out to destroy him, but he couldn’t put his faith in the idea most things were not. It only took a couple of good hits to bring an empire down, and he was not willing to let that happen to his company. He’d been dragged along that path himself, and it was too hard a climb to allow it to ever again. Still, there was no fighting how good it felt to be alone with nothing but the music, _ and _Martín. 

“No? And how can you be so sure?” 

“I think most people know you could destroy them, as easily as you destroyed that guitar string.” Martín winked at him, and he imagined his heart skipping a beat before he ripped the notion violently away where it wasn’t a threat. 

“Can I?” His words were sour, making his lips curl as though he’d bitten into a lemon. It shouldn’t affect him this much to hear things he already knew about himself, but somehow hearing Martín say them stung him unexpectedly. 

Martín rolled his eyes at the overreaction, raising his hand to rest on Andrés’ shoulder. “Don’t take such quick offense.” Almost absentmindedly, Martín’s thumb moved across a small part of the fabric of his shirt covering the curve of his shoulder, silently confirming his words were meant to increase the banter between them. The tension between his shoulder blades loosened, helping him to stand taller once again. “Andrés, you may be a shark but,” his free hand waved to gesture to the studio, offering a silent explanation. “More people just need to take the time to understand you, to see the other side of you.” 

He raised his eyebrow as he smiled. “And what is it you see, Martín?” The kindness was overbearing, suffocating even, and he wished he could find the resolve to care. It was risky giving into the undeniable spark between them, and every move Andrés ever made was calculated five steps ahead. This was not in his plans, this was not controlled, and he just didn’t care.

“Señor Fonollosa,” Mónica calling his name interrupted then, and he stepped around Martín to focus his full attention on her instead. She looked a little frantic, little lines of sweat on her face as she panted to catch her breath. “Sergio needs you, I’m afraid there’s a problem with one of the artists.” 

He turned his head to Martín, raising one finger as he said, “Wait here. I’ll go deal with this and have Sergio handle your recording.” 

Martín nodded, understandingly and it was intolerable how mindful he was. He was far too used to being met with snide comments or huffs of annoyance, instead of patience, but it didn’t matter then. 

Mónica started to update him on the situation, from what little she knew. He felt his feet moving quicker with each word, anger rising inside of him. He had no interest in dealing with this right now, and he had done everything in his power to ensure it would be near impossible for these issues to arise again. 

Rio was already gone by the time he stepped into Sergio’s office. He took a moment to repress some of his anger, no interest in letting it all loose on his brother who he already knew would have done everything in his power to diffuse the situation. He wasn’t going to explode at Sergio, when Andrés knew he didn’t deserve it. “What happened?” He asked, through gritted teeth. 

Sergio looked up from his desk, papers neatly organized despite how quickly he moved while he searched through them. “He came in and said he had a better offer he was going to take.” 

“Tokio?” 

Sergio nodded, “most likely. He refused to say who, but I recognize the lawyer with him and I’d assume she keeps them on retainer.” 

“Why didn’t you call me sooner?” He asked, stepping around the desk to look at one of the other piles of paper. 

“We don’t _ own _ any of them,” Sergio reminded him, cautiously. “If they want to pay the fees to leave, there is still that option and a few others.” 

“I still want our contracts looked at again. Call the legal team, _ now, _Sergio.” He barked the order more intensely then he’d meant to. Sergio and their lawyers had worked tirelessly in his absence to put together the most binding contract they could legally have, while still providing the right amount of freedoms to their artists. It did nothing to slow how quickly the room was moving in his frustration, and he needed to fill in control again. 

“We’ll figure this out,” Sergio promised, as Andrés thanked him silently with a nod, the storm in his eyes softened. Sergio pulled back the sleeve of his suit then, sighing at the time. “I’ll have to take care of it after my recording with Martín.” 

Andrés raised his hand, stopping his brother in place. “I’ll let him know it’s not a good day for this. I’ll be back to help you shortly.” 

He slowed reaching the door again. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been with Sergio, but he would rewind every minute to go back to where they’d been only moments ago. The interruption was a reminder of why he shouldn’t let things continue to develop between them. HIs attachments were only secure when they were with his family, the only relationships he could trust not to betray him. He sighed, shaking his head. Life was never fair and it normally did not bother him. Everything being handed to him was never what he wanted, and a moment’s peace was best utilized to find other ways to identify areas for progress. But, as he opened the door again and caught those blue eyes looking at him, he wished for once something could be easy. 

“Sergio and I have some urgent matters to take care of. We’ll have to reschedule,” he said, apologetically. “He’ll call you when he can.” 

The way Martín looked at him then, the same way he had back at his apartment before helping him inside the house, threatened to make his knees go weak. His concern was far too easy to melt in, and Andrés yearned to latch back onto it. The events of the last year raced through his head, and he needed to concentrate on things other than the curve of Martín’s lips. 

“It’s not a problem,” Martín said, grabbing his guitar case, moving to stand too close to him. “Are you alright?” This time when he asked, he seemed less hesitant to voice his concern and that simply could not stand. He could not do this with Martín, whatever _ this _ was. 

“Just things to take care of, late on a Friday afternoon,” he said, the corners of his lips turned down. 

“Is that all there is?” 

“Yes,” he snapped, angrier than he intended. He snapped his fingers, as though the new plan he thought of in the moment was something he had simply forgotten. “I did mean to tell you, we need someone to open on one of our tours in Berlin. Sergio will send you further details, but congratulations.”

Martín smiled, but still looked puzzled and worried.Andrés wished he could allow that to continue, to let someone else burden everything he needed to work through. He had to put an end to this and get their professional relationship back on track. He had his defenses for a reason, and even the glow in those blue eyes or how part of him longed to lean into Martín’s warmth were good enough excuses to bring them down. 

Martín opened his mouth slightly to speak, before closing it again. Andrés could see him contemplating his thoughts, opting to be vigilant in what he said. “I am grateful for the opportunity,” he finally settled on, rather uncertain. “Take care of yourself, Andrés,” he added, stepping out of the room. 

He wanted Martín to get excited about the tour, be bouncing off the walls even, a mirror of everyone else reaching this milestone before him. But his actions confirmed what Andrés already suspected: Martín would never be a carbon copy of everyone else around him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed :)
> 
> Dance with Somebody: Matt Alber


	16. As Long as You Love Me

Most of the way back to his apartment, Martín could only think of the look of distress, plastered across Andrés’ face when he had been relaxed only minutes before. He tapped the window, trying to find a means of distraction and was grateful the taxi was responsible for taking him home, rather than being left to his own devices. Had he been driving, he would have turned around in the middle of the narrow street by now, unconcerned in the slightest about the others he would inconvenience with hazardous driving. Things were drastically different the moment Andrés opened the door back to the recording room, and it sat far too heavily on his heart. Andrés’ radiant light seemed extinguished, more than just dimmer the way it had been when he’d shown up sick at his apartment. 

He’d taken a seat in one of the office chairs in front of the computer, trying to calm the racing going on inside of his head. They’d shared little embraces before, between the time he sworn he could feel the heat from where Andrés kissed him on the cheek for over a week, to how good it felt to be wrapped his arms while they danced, to the simplicity of how Andrés comforted him by squeezing his hand back at his university classroom. But, he had never been so brave as to touch Andrés so intimately first, knowing it was not his place to cross those boundaries regardless of what his feelings may be. Andrés didn’t shrink away, and he wondered where things might have gone if the door hadn’t been thrown open by Monica. Andrés had asked him what he saw in him, and Martín knew the words he’d wanted to say. Another moment longer and Andrés would know the truth about his muses. 

But, when he’d opened up the door again, Martín was grateful his answer had been delayed. He kept watching Andrés as he spoke, his features flushed and bags seemingly appeared under his eyes from nowhere. He quickly weighed his options, longing to offer a shoulder of support once more. Only this time, Martín kept his distance. Whatever managed to upset Andrés in the short time they were apart, somehow he knew it would not end well if he tried to offer the same comfort he’d done before. He felt useless as he watched Andrés try to explain briefly how it wasn’t a good time for him to be in the recording studio and how Sergio would contact him to reschedule.   
  
“It’s not a problem.” He tried to use his words to his advantage, offering the understanding and support he longed to give physically. Andrés looked as though he could use someone to make him sit down and take a moment to breathe, but every fiber in his being screamed at Martín to quickly make his exit. He’d grabbed his guitar case, ready to exit but found himself stopping to stand nearby. He hoped perhaps Andrés might reach out to him, take the support for himself if he truly needed it. “Are you alright?”   
  
“Just things to take care of, late on a Friday afternoon,” Andrés replied, the corners of his lips turned down. Martín shivered at the cold radiating from his expression, and he ached to make Andrés smile again.   
  
“Is that all there is?” 

“Yes,” he snapped, and Martín knew his anger was misdirected. Once again, he would be willing to brush it off for now. It would only drive a wedge between them if he chose now to show a little backbone, even if there might come a day it would need to be addressed, but it didn’t matter right then. He could see the gears in Andrés’ head turning, before he spoke again. “I did mean to tell you, we need someone to open on one of our tours in Berlin. Sergio will send you further details, but congratulations.”

Martín smiled, trying to respond the way he knew he should. His big day had finally come, and he should be ready to throw himself into celebrations. But none of that mattered with the energy of the room. To begin with, every thought in his head was preoccupied by the shift in Andrés’ behavior. He wanted to dial back the clock, bring back the moments they were sharing and keep the outside world away from Andrés. The feeling to keep him protected, to stand in the way of whatever just happened, made him annoyed at himself. It wasn’t his place to be so selfish. He also couldn’t fight how his shoulders slumped at Andrés’ announcement about the tour. Logically, he knew there would come a day when he wouldn’t see Andrés somewhere in the crowd. He was not a fan who would follow him on the road, going from show to show. Still, there was a small part of him clinging to the hope Andrés would find a way to be at his first major performance. In a way, it made sense, given he had come around to the smaller events. Martín knew Sergio’s schedule would take Andrés away from him for a family holiday, and he didn’t look forward to any of it. He forced a brighter smile, trying to reflect his gratitude as he scolded himself. Andrés didn’t need to worry about him complaining about his big break, not with the pressure already on his plate.   
  
He opened his mouth slightly to speak, before closing it again. He needed to be vigilant in what he said, alert the wrong thing could escalate the situation. “I am grateful for the opportunity,” he finally settled on, but the words were not enough to end on when he was uncertain of the next time he would see him. “Take care of yourself, Andrés,” he added.

News broke in some of his music forums before the end of the day: Rio had left the label to go work for Tokio. He wanted to wring the younger man’s neck, which was rather unsensible. Even trying to shake any sense into him at all was simply not his place. He knew all too well these things happened. Artists and labels were not always good fits, and both could find reasons they needed to move on. Nevertheless, images danced across his head of Andrés’ head rolling forward, hands twitching subconsciously at his sides as the vein in his temple twitched, and those dark bags under his eyes speaking of sleepless hours already starting to settle in. His loyalty lied with Andrés, and he would defend it if asked of him. He wondered just how many artists Tokio tried to test with her simple offers and thin smile. He wasn’t sure how her charm could work on anyone who knew anything about the music industry. Her company was promising, but it could not offer the same things _ Fonollosa Records _were capable of. 

He turned his phone over in his hand, debating placing the phone to his ear and making the call. He sat on his bed, looking out the window as the sun started to set. He could see Sergio and Andrés, busily working away over paperwork and picking up their phones only to end one call and move onto the next, not needing him to step in and pull them away. It did nothing to bring a stop to the desire to quickly check up on both of them. He arched his head against his headboard, gently tapping his head against the wood as he tried to shake his instincts. He kept forcing the reminder they’d dealt with these things on more than one occasion, they knew how to work in sync to fix their problems. It still did not change his desire to stupidly try and be of some assistance. The best thing he could do for them was to get ready for his performance in Berlin. 

He slipped under his bedsheets, turning his head as he tried to get comfortable enough for sleep to overtake him. Normally, he was capable of falling asleep the minute his head hit the pillow. He should throw his phone across the room to make it impossible for him to reach out to, the bright screen blinding him as he tried to find something to look at other than Andrés’ contact. 

A thought came back to him as he pulled up the web browser on his phone. At least looking up a few things he might have a few hours or a day to see while he was on tour in Berlin should suffice until he managed to fall asleep. There were things he already knew from history books, but he knew there was more than he was capable of imagining without a travel guide. He’d never visited Germany before, rarely getting away from Spain since he’d made his move from Argentina. He preferred it that way, with no one worth taking out of the country with him for an extended holiday. He was uninterested in traveling alone, opting instead for time away exploring different regions of his new home, but the promise of being sent on further tours would allow him to see more outside of his borders. 

He started by looking at the concert venue. Tickets were still available for Luka’s performance, but he could still feel the lump forming in his throat, small flutters in his stomach at the idea of playing for what appeared to round up to 13,000 people. He closed his eyes, tapping his phone against his chest. It would be much easier to play if Andrés were there, watching him the way he’d done at his first higher class shows. All the same, Martín would play as if he were watching in the crowd. He’d make him proud and give him one less thing to worry about. He had dreamed too long of this moment to let it all fall away now. He’d worked down to the bone to get here, prioritizing his music more and more in recent months. He could feel the roar of the crowd, customarily welcoming him on stage though they might not know his songs. He would work to win them over, to gain their favor, and if everything worked out, send a few rushing onto their phones during the concert or after they got home to listen to more. It was the final step to see if he was going to make it, and the idea made him feel giddy since the first time Andrés told him they were sending him. He shook his head, one of his hands falling on his face over his toothy grin. 

With a fist thrown into the air, he chuckled as he laughed out, “¡Toma!” In the morning, he would make it a priority to arrange a celebratory drink with Denver before he headed out on tour. Until then, everything else could wait, his excitement boiling on barely able to contain. 

Against his better judgement, he typed out a quick message to Andrés to express his thanks once more. He hit send before he could argue back and forth on whether or not it was actually a good idea. Just the small act was all he could offer for now, but it was what he would want to be done for him in the situation. He expected nothing in return, though he kept turning his phone over on the nightstand to see if anything came in all the same, until his eyelids became too heavy and sleep claimed him. 

His time in Berlin was already off to a bad start. He’d forgotten just how much he detested flying. He’d been lucky enough to be placed in a window seat, allowing him the rounded wall of the plane to curl up against, and the ability to draw the blind so he didn’t have to look at the grey storm clouds outside his window. They still plagued his mind, and he could imagine the sound of the rain pelting against his windows, even with his headphones turned up to the maximum volume. The plane stayed steady for the majority of the flight, but it was never enough to lull him into any sense of comfort for very long. A single small dip of the plane as they hit turbulence, rocking through it, was enough for him to reach out and cling to the rounded ends of his arm rest, sitting taller. 

“You’re fine,” he muttered to himself, again and again. He’d intended to keep it bottled in, but his stomach dropped when the plane did, and he needed a stronger sense of comfort. 

Luka tapped his arm then, making Martín take his headphones out of his ears. “Afraid of flying?” 

“I just don’t like it,” he replied, forcing his best brave face. 

“It’s not so bad, but perhaps it would be better with a distraction. Are you ready for your performance?” 

Martín sighed. It would be easy to lie to a stranger in that moment, but he would gain nothing from it. If anything, he would push away the opportunity to get a few pointers before he stepped up onto such a large stage for the first time in his life. “A little,” he admitted the half-truth, neither wanting to be a coward nor overly confident. 

“Don’t follow the old, _ imagine __the audience in their underwear, _ trick,” Luka said, shaking his head. “That does not work, and you can’t always see for shit on stage anyway. The lights can be blinding, so make sure you’ve tried to adjust your eyes to that beforehand. They won’t bother you so much after a couple of times.”

“How long have you been going on tours?” 

“Almost five years now. My first was in Madrid, normally you don’t get sent anywhere for your first time. You really must be the boss’ favorite,” he replied. Martín sat taller then, his eyes narrowing at the words before he’d recognized his defensive tendencies creeping up on him. Luka only laughed in turn. “_ Tranquilo_, Martín, I didn’t mean anything by it. Might have to be so overprotective around some of the others, but don’t worry about me.” 

He grumbled, trying to release the tension in his face. “It’s just hard to know who the rats are, after everything that’s just happened.” 

“Things are already going back to normal. You don’t feel the same tensions there you did a year ago, but I wouldn’t start looking to break your contract if you change your mind. Though, if they’re already sending you out on tour, it wouldn't be worth it to start all over again anyway.” 

And there it was again. The reminder he simply didn’t know everything going on in the world he was being accepted into. It was also enough to explain the way Andrés had reacted a week ago, probably some part of him always on edge thinking things were headed for the worst again. Martín’s heart hurt for him, and the pain he’d suffered through regardless of who was responsible. His resolve was set in never being part of anything causing him any excess distress. 

“Have you been to Berlin before?” 

“A few years ago, for cheap beers with some friends,” he smiled. “I’ll give you some recommendations. I try not to go out anymore before shows, take things more seriously now. Another tip, don’t get too wasted the night before a show.” 

When they reached the hotel, Martín was certain there would never be a need for him to leave it. With the small trip from the airplane to the terminal on the shuttle bus, from inside the airport to where the car waited to pick them up, and the trip from the car inside the hotel, the cold from the rain staining his clothes left him shivering and ready to change into something new, but the grey skies made him want to stay inside. Luka’s company was enjoyable for having no other options on the plane, but they would go their separate ways until it was time to leave for the concert venue. The hotel was good enough to stay locked inside of, anyway. 

There were a few blue painted walls, broken up by beige brick walls to make the welcome area look seem more elegant than it was. There had to have been at least twenty arm chairs, ready for people to lounge far too close together. He supposed it worked if the single person working behind the counter had too many people to assist, but he couldn’t imagine using the area to actually lounge in. Thankfully, the double bed upstairs was more promising. The room wasn’t too big, just enough for him to have a small desk and wardrobe to store his things. He threw his things around all the same, only taking time to hang up some of his clothes he would wear to the performance. He threw himself on the bed, and twisted as he tried to find a comfortable spot to relax and check his phone. 

Apart from a few junk emails, he had nothing waiting for him to come back to. The evening was still young, and he knew he shouldn’t lay around sulking. Besides, it should come as no surprise after the past few days, there would be nothing from Andrés. He already knew he was surrounded by sea and sun, hopefully enjoying much needed relaxation away from it all. He’d wished him well, and received a phone call from Sergio only a few hours before he left Madrid. It would be enough until he returned again. 

He jumped to his feet, throwing his wet shirt to the bottom of his wardrobe. He opted for a simple dark grey shirt to go under his leather jacket, determined to use it to block out some of the cold. Getting away for the evening to visit one of the bars Luka recommended would at least kill some time. They were still two nights away from the concert, and he’d get enough rest the next day to make up for any havoc he got up to. 

He decided on one not too far away, allowing him to walk and take in the crisp spring air. The petrichor reminded him of the night back in his classroom, and he smiled as he zipped his leather jacket up, trying to keep himself warm. He walked his arms over his chest as he walked, not wanting to increase his pace and get inside any faster. Before he only noticed the wet asphalt and wet ground, but now he could understand the poetic reasons why people enjoyed the earthy smell. 

The bar was pretty empty for a Wednesday night, which allowed him solitude while he had some drinks. He took a seat at the bar, ordering a beer before he threw himself down in one of the rounded leather seats. The yellow lights needed to be replaced, reflecting orange onto the white walls. As far as places to go, he definitely could’ve picked and afforded somewhere much nicer. But, the elevated platform at the front of the room made him grin, as two lanky Germans, one armed with a guitar and the other a saxophone, took the stage. He would never have a reason to play in a dump like this ever again, and he could imagine Andrés stringing him up if he even jokingly suggested it. Still, there had been many nights throughout his life this was the only way he would ever get to play for a crowd. He silenced his phone, leaning back in his chair with his cloudy, sour beer in hand. 

He pictured the times he and Denver performed together, a few nights of solo performances leading to drinks after a set. Their friendship stemmed from his musical roots, and his chest swelled with pride at humble beginnings. Soon, he would know what it felt like to have his first performing experience and there would probably be nothing like that experience. He had never played for more than two or perhaps three hundred people at one of the galas. He’d been to other concerts, face green as the performers soaked it in or other times didn’t seem to appreciate the crowd screaming their lyrics back at them. He couldn’t believe he was finally so close to achieving his dream, with no one to share it with. 

He jumped as a large hand landed on his shoulder, calling him back to the moment. He snapped his head around, looking up to see the grinning smile of the husky Serbian he’d only meet once, a few weeks ago. “Helsi?” He questioned, eyebrow cocked. “Are you following me now?” 

For being such a giant, the man had a quiet laugh meant for someone half his size. “I could ask you the same. If you wanted to jump ship, we could’ve met in Madrid,” he said, taking the seat across from him. “My brother is getting married, I’m visiting for the ceremony. You have your first performance this weekend, don’t you?” 

Martín beamed, eager to jump at the opportunity to talk with someone more warm and inviting than Luka, but also more likely to understand all of his highs and lows as the event crept closer. He shook his head, rubbing his chin as he considered the options a moment. Something in his eyes must have betrayed his thoughts, as Helsinki spoke again. “I’m not going to run off and call my boss, if that’s what you’re worried about. What’s the saying? What happens in Berlin, stays in Berlin.” 

Martín chuckled, “I think that’s Vegas, big man. The Americans are quite loose.” 

“Works for here, too.” He paused, taking a drink of his beer. “We don’t have to talk, but I’ll let you pat me down and check for wires if you want to.” 

“I met your boss, she’s quite the snake, and you seem like a teddy bear.” Helsi’s grin only further distracted him from being lost to the bittersweet feeling drug up by all his self-reflection. “What’s it like working for her?” He probed. 

“Maybe we should set boundaries. You don’t talk about your boss, and I won’t talk about mine,” he compromised. “If it makes any difference, it’s just a job to me. Like everyone in our line of work, I just wanted to be around music. Unlike you, if I tried to sing I’d break every window in Germany.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind, it might prove necessary one day.” 

“Are you ready for your performance?” 

He gestured towards the stage, the two performers goofing around while a few notes fell flat. “I’m not sure I’m ready to let that go,” Martín replied, honestly. He glanced at the stage, reverently once more. There would be more criticism now, more expectations, and more spotlight on him if he made it big. He liked his peaceful life, but not enough to avoid laying it on the line to pursue his opportunity of a lifetime. 

“It’s a hard adjustment,” Helsi offered. “But you wouldn’t be here if Fonollosa didn’t think you were worth it. That man runs a tighter ship than the one I used to work on in the military.” 

Martín smirked, his chest puffing almost habit now whenever anyone mentioned how valuable he was to Andrés. He probably saw all of his artists that way, but there was a small part of him still clinging onto the hope he was something special. Andrés at least went out of his way a little more for him than the others, and if nothing else was ever given, he would work to stay worthy of that forever. 

“He gets a bad reputation, but he’s not so bad underneath it all,” Martín said more to himself than anyone else as he grinned. 

“Must be nice, I can’t say the same about my boss,” Helsi joked, but Martín wondered if there was any truth to his words. 

Before he could ask any follow-up questions, he reminded himself they’d agree to keep work talk out of their conversation, so out of respect, Martín quickly shifted the topic. “Do you play any instruments?” 

“The drums, but only when I’ve had too much to drink. Never have much time to sit and learn to play.” 

“What a shame, you’d probably look really good up on stage,” he winked. 

The companionship was proving to fill his needs for the evening, but the banter between them still didn’t sit right. It was fun and comfortable, but it wasn’t filling the void of the extension of himself he felt missing. The smile didn’t hit his eyes the same way, and the laugh didn’t make his heart soar. A few months ago, he might have pursued this to continue his evening’s entertainment. He’d certainly kept a number of flings going at the same time, but now even the idea was out of question. It didn’t matter where Andrés’ affection fell, Martín knew his heart went wherever it had to go in order to follow his muse. 

“It’s getting late, but do you want to grab something to eat?” Helsi answered, raising his hand before Martín could object. “Just as friends,” he assured. 

They exited the bar together, walking towards the best stand to get some street food. Martín's thoughts formed the perfect image of Andrés sticking up his nose at the prospect of eating something cheap, rather than rushing back to the hotel, putting on some evening suit, and managing to pull reservations for a restaurant seemingly out of thin air. He chuckled to himself, trying to contain the grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. He bowed his head, trying his best to hide it all from Helsi. 

“Who are you thinking about?” 

“That’s not your place,” Martín retorted, the smile on his face shrinking until Helsi raised his hands innocently. “Someone I’ve taken far too strong an interest in, who probably doesn’t think the same,” he admitted. It felt good to let go of some of his reservations, to let a burden fall off his shoulders before he needed to focus on the show. 

The pieces seemed to click in Helsi’s mind after a few minutes of walking in silence, and he only gave a friendly nod in response. “You never know,” he said when he finally spoke up again. 

Martín bit down on his tongue, tempted to try and talk it through with someone who might understand. All the same, he knew he couldn’t simply jump to that level of trust with someone who might use it all against him. They fell back into an awkward silence, neither seeming to know which topics were safe to breach next. As they walked past a yellow Berlin Bear, painted with cartoonish murals of highlights of the city, Helsi stopped, pointing back and forth between the bear and his stomach. “Do you think I’d look good with one of these as a tattoo?” 

“Maybe,” he laughed. “It might be a little too ferocious for you. What about a little kitten? Or a butterfly?” 

After a few hours of strolling around, they found separate cars back to their hotels. Martín stood with half his body hanging out of his, and waved his hand once as a goodbye, as Helsi stood with his back against the door of his taxi. “If you’re worried about your performance, I could be a friendly face in the crowd,” Helsi offered, giving his own wave in turn. 

“If you’d like. It might be nice,” he replied. It _ would _ be nice if he was honest, it just wouldn’t be the right fit. At the very least, he would have someone there for him instead of the crowd who came for Luka and his band. Helsi extended him his phone, and Martín typed in the digits. Glancing at the time, he finally sat down in the car knowing he needed to start getting some rest. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” 

Walking through the hallways leading to the stage, Martín’s heart was ready to pop out of his chest. He walked with a few of the stage crew surrounding him, directing exactly which way he would need to go and which cues he would need to take. They’d been at the venue for a few hours now to do soundchecks and give him the opportunity to stand on the stage and soak it all in. Even being simply surrounded by all of the empty seats was enough to overwhelm him. He found a small spot to look out at, if things got too out of hand. He knew exactly what he should picture, the missing piece he could use to center himself if he needed to. Now as he prepared to take the stage, he could only hope it would be enough. 

With his green guitar strap around his neck, he slowly took the steps onto the stage one at a time. He was dressed in a simple dark grey suit, with a double breasted jacket, with a plain light blue shirt underneath. He’d spent hours in front of the mirror trying to come up with the exact right look, but everything felt too heavy on him. He needed to be able to breathe without excess layers of clothing adding unnecessary pressure on his body. He felt the knots forming in his back as the tours ticked by, stress settling in despite his best efforts. It probably wouldn’t have been Andrés or Sergios’ pick for his first performance, but it still still fell in line with his guidelines. Without them here, any comments about picking something better next time would be passed up. 

The lights were still turned off as he made his way to center stage. There were six large ones behind him, in front of two large screens to help project his picture to people further back in the crowd. There were a few other lights sitting on top of the speakers, as well as some that could be used to float over the crowd. He closed his eyes, counting down to zero. He pulled the sound of a deep laughter, and the smile of thin lips as the lights turned on and he began. 

_ Although loneliness has always been a friend of mine  
_ _ I'm leaving my life in your hands  
_ _ People say I'm crazy and that I am blind  
_ _ Risking it all in a glance   
_

From where he stood, he could only see a few distinct faces of those closest to the stage, and make out the shapes of the masses. He was grateful for the blur, able to picture them as one rather than each individual. The energy of the room was electric, and he grinned as he continued to play. 

_ Every little thing that you have said and done  
_ _ Feels like it's deep within me  
_ _ Doesn't really matter if you're on the run  
_ _ It seems like we're meant to be   
_

Repetition of lyrics worked to his favor, and he could almost sink to his knees and throw his fists into the air, rejoicing as he listened to the crowd join in to sing along. He’d never felt anything like this before, his words coming back at him. Even in his wildest dreams of reaching this moment, there was something entirely different at actually being accepted. He could continue to make it, with hard work and drive. His passions were yielding years of hard work, and as he brought the first song to an end, he thought of his father. If he could see him now, how far the passion he’d inspired had gone, keeping some last part of him with him. He thought briefly of Andrés, who had the same level of faith in his abilities to keep him motivated now. 

_ I don't care who you are  
_ _ Where you're from  
_ _ What you did_  
As long as you love me

The tears prickled the corner of his eyes as his final song came to an end, and he waved goodnight to the crowd. The lights went dark, and he had to drag one foot in front of the other to get himself to leave. The intoxicating mix of the bright lights, the roar of the crowd cheering for him at the end of his performance, and leaving knowing he’d given it all he could left his heart pounding in his chest. He kept having to remind himself to breathe after such an exhilarating rush, by far the best feeling he’d ever experienced. He grinned, probably bordering on looking like a mad man, but he couldn’t shake how he felt. He was floating on air as he made his way towards the small bottle of champagne delivered to him before the start of the show, attached with a note about the small gesture being from his team at the label to wish him luck. Helsinki should be backstage shortly, and it would be good to be with a friend after a defining moment of his life. 

Luka was backstage, ear plugs in as he tried to focus on his own final preparations before the main event would begin. Still, he nodded and offered a friendly smile as Martín passed him, and the gesture was appreciated. With any luck, he would be invited to tour with him again. Though they’d barely spoken on the plane, he seemed more driven then some of the rest he’d met at the vineyard party a few months ago. Still, he didn’t care who he opened up for, now addicted to the high of performing in front of such a large audience. 

Once back in his dressing room, he loosened his tie and prepared to settle in for the evening, knowing it would be a while before he could get a ride back to his hotel. He pulled out the seat in front of the vanity, and grabbed one of the wipes to remove the light make up the artist applied to his face. He still preferred his natural look, but Marisol was right when she said the light touch of eyeliner would make his eyes pop. All the same, it probably wouldn’t become part of his wardrobe anytime soon. 

He reached for his phone, a single missed voicemail from Helsinki greeting him. “_Hey Martín, something came up. We’ll have to catch up in Madrid when you’re not being watched like a hawk. Best of luck!_” 

He frowned as he placed his phone back down. Real company was preferable, and he wondered why he hadn’t thought to bribe Denver to come with him for his first performance. It wouldn’t be the same to call him, and he was probably preoccupied with Monica. With what little time he’d had to speak to his friend, all he’d heard about in turn was about the endless different dates they’d been on since they’d met at lunch. He wasn’t in the mood to have a conversation, craving the celebration to be all about him and his success. He reached out for the champagne bottle, and popped it open before he grabbed one of the long stem glasses. If no one else would celebrate with him, he was still capable of doing it all on his own.

A light tap on the door, as though the person on the other side was fighting their own reservations, broke him from his solitude. . He wasn’t sure why any of the stage tech would be worried about disturbing him. “Come in,” he shouted, loud enough to be certain his voice was heard. Perhaps whoever it was would be willing to join in his celebrations, even for five minutes. 

Instead, he only heard the knock again. While things were loud backstage, he was certain they should’ve been removed enough for the other person to hear him. But, the exhaustion was starting to settle in, while his brain still tried to chance the rest of his high. He had no desire to spend all night increasing his level of shouting for the other person to just come in. He rubbed his eyes as he stood, quickly reaching the door in a few short strides. His eyes opened wide, before blinking rapidly to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. 

“Are you going to let me in, Martín?” Andrés asked, a small grin on his face. He wore a royal purple suit, over a lighter purple grid shirt, and a navy blue tie with white tonal dots; the darker colors accenting his natural looks well and knocking whatever breath Martín had left out of his lungs. The single breasted jacket was designed to fit tighter than normal, temptations screaming back at him. The darker purple pocket square was folded, almost reflecting the patterns of loose petals, contrasting with the beautiful petals of the orchids Andrés held in a small, glass vase against his hip. There was a mix of reds, sprinkled in with a few blues, and carefully arranged with a few green and white posy flowers scattered. 

“Andrés,” he finally managed to say, uncertain if he should look at the beautiful arrangement or the man holding them. “Are those for me?” 

Andrés chuckled, “flowers are generally received after one's first performance.” 

“_R__oses_, generally,” Martín replied, his hands coming to rest on his hips, a playful smirk on his lips.

Andrés’ grin only spread across his face, and Martín reached out to stroke one of the petals. He leaned closer, inhaling deeply to take in their scent. From what he knew of orchids, they were capable of taking on a wide variety of scents. Andrés had, unsurprisingly, managed to pick ones with a sweet, aromantic fragrance, and he could get just a hint of Andrés’ cologne mixed in as he sniffed the bouquet. The piquant smells worked well together, tickling his nose. 

Andrés nudged past Martín softly, closing the door once he was inside, allowing them privacy. Martín followed, looking back at him and away from the flowers his fingers still touched. “Roses are ordinary and overdone,” he countered, grabbing one of Martín’s hands in his free one to mindfully pass the flowers to him. Andrés fingers lingered longer than they needed to, stroking the back of Martín’s hand in three slow movements, commanding his full attention onto him.. “You deserve more than some commonplace gift. Your performance was marvellous.” 

Time slowed around him as he realized definitively this was not a dream he would wake up from, left with nothing more than loneliness and disappointment.. Andrés leaned against the vanity, watching him fondly while he admired the gift, and Martín had to immediately avert his gaze again, losing himself in looking at the flowers as the heat of a bright blush filled his cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Long As You Love Me: Cover by Erato & Charlotte Almgren  
\---
> 
> I must admit, I really missed Andrés in this chapter, but it was good to give Martín a taste of his dream. Hope you all enjoyed this chapter just as much all the same. :)


	17. Seychelles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geesh, I love Andrés as much as anyone else, but this chapter he wanted to behave like I was trying to pull teeth! Can't believe I ended on 7670 words. 
> 
> Enjoy! :)

The figure eight swimming pool stretched at the end of the walkway, overlooking the crescent shape of the stretch of island and rolling hills. The wooden patio before it offered a few places to sit and dine, a few white double chaise lounge chairs which were almost the same size as the beds inside their villas mixed in to provide perfect luxury with a stunning view. Wooden stairs led down to the beach, the sweet aromas of the restaurant attached to the reception building mixing with the salt of ocean spray confirming all they would ever need was within a few meters. They would not need to lift their fingers for a single moment of their trip, except maybe to ring a bell and have the waitstaff come rushing to take care of whatever order they decided on. The waves crashed against the clusters of rocks dotting the coastline, the sound of birds flying overhead setting the scene of what could be a flawless vacation. When they’d left Madrid, a patch of bad weather had just started to roll in, their timing impeccable to escape the depressing grey and heavy rains. Here, the sun hung in the sky without a single cloud threatening to spoil the picturesque view, reflecting against the clear turquoise water of the ocean below. All of it should have vastly increased his mood, but it was insufficient. He might as well have packed the storm with him, the range of emotions swelling inside of him as he could only think of the laptop slung over his shoulder in its black messenger carrying bag. 

He could feel Raquel’s eyes on him as his hand reached to pop open the buttons on the bag, ready to pull the laptop out before he’d even reached the room. He wanted to turn around and remind her to mind her own business, but he knew better than to snap at her. While Sergio might handle his irritability on occasion, Raquel would not hesitate to tell him off. He did not want his laptop to end up at the bottom of the swimming pool, not when he was too far away from the office to download all the necessary programs he needed onto a replacement harddrive. He wished for a moment she was the one distracted by a sleeping Paula cradled in her arms, her head cradled against Raquel’s neck blocking her vision, instead of Sergio, as they walked from the entry point of the hotel, following one of the young women dressed in the white blazer and slacks that made up the hotel staff uniforms. At least then, he stood a chance at making a free break from any sort of criticism when he threw himself into his work on their first full afternoon away. If they simply left him alone long enough to do what needed to be done, perhaps he stood a chance for a day or two at the end of their ten day vacation to actually settle down and have a moment’s peace. That wouldn’t be possible if he didn’t throw himself back into the work he’d begun with the weak in-flight WiFi, which had crapped out in cycles every ten or fifteen minutes. 

Their rooms were close to the end of the line of villas, opposing each other and allowing them space when needed. While Sergio and Raquel’s were split into two adjoining rooms offering them some privacy from Paula, he was left alone to the large bed and table in his room. He justified if the hotel did not mean to encourage him to work, they would not provide the means to set up the perfect office setting. 

“We’ll see you for dinner, right Andrés?” Raquel said, cautiously as they parted to a few hours of relaxation to stretch and relax after the long duration of their flight. 

“Yes,” he grumbled, unfocused on the conversation but knowing better than to leave her without an answer. How he found himself answering to his brother’s partner was still a mystery to him. He quickly stepped inside, closing the door behind him without a second glance back at either of them. 

It was easier to drown out the sound of the waves, which should have been calling to him like a siren, from the moment he sat down. His eyes narrowed, focusing on the long chain of emails he was copied on. There was more to catch up on than he would have thought, and each word dug him deeper and deeper into the to-do list he had carefully broken up to each of his agents, the legal team, and even Monica before he’d left. None of that mattered, each thought in his head was geared towards taking control. He typed away, nothing breaking his concentration until the corner of the laptop started to flash a low battery signal at him. It snapped his thoughts away long enough to look up from the computer, shifting through the laptop bag to plug in the charging cord. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw the blended bright yellows, fiery deep red-oranges, and just a hue of purple painting the sky, signalling night was already falling on him. Their first sunset in the Seychelles was truly something spectacular to behold even from just the obstructed view of his window, and it beckoned to him to step outside. He craved to walk away from the work that had wasted the entire afternoon faster than he’d even recognized, and be lost in the moment. He knew somewhere, the hotel staff had placed both of his suitcases in the room, and the expensive Canon tucked away in the bulky, protective case sat collecting dust alongside his sketching kit. They both were going to go to waste, no use in packing either of them at the rate his work consumed his attention. Still, as if they were sentient objects, he could hear them crying out in response to letting them down as he refused to indulge in a hobby over his duties. 

The hard knock on the door ripped him away from his thoughts, the same one he’d known almost all of his life. “Sergio! I am working in here,” he grumbled, hand curling around the back of his chair. 

“It’s time to go to dinner, Andrés,” he said, shaking the locked doorknob. “We let you work all day. Come on.” 

“I will join you when everything is done,” he said sharply, trying to contain his temper at his younger brother’s insistence. This was not like when they were children, and he was simply trying to have a moment of peace without having to keep his brother in his company. He should know better than acting like this when it came to the company, no matter where in the world they were. 

“Andrés, I am not going to argue with you, but we would enjoy it if you came with us,” came Sergio’s final word on the matter. 

He sunk into his chair, rubbing his temples at the tremendous guilt in the shift of tone which carried Sergio’s closing argument. He heard the doorknob stop turning, accompanied only a few seconds later by the sound of retreating footsteps. He tried to fight the longing in him to look back at his side of the door, to grab his shoes and quickly make up the increasing distance between them as they walked away without him. But, with one hand reaching the top of his laptop lid, he fell back into his routine just as quickly. 

He woke up to sharp pains in his back, the result of being slumped over in his chair for what, according to the clock on his laptop, amounted to less than two hours. The lighter, pale pinks of the morning sky danced with the final dark blues of the night, breaking through his window. Once again, his heart was elsewhere, yearning only increasing with the promise of another beautiful utopian day. Every thought beckoned him back to the computer, blue light making his head pound while his stomach growled incessantly. He rubbed the middle of his abdomen, trying to coax the discomfort away, though he knew it would not be so easily persuaded. He had missed dinner altogether, hadn’t been hungry for lunch, and simply pushed his fork around the passable food on the silver tray offered to him on the plane ride. For all he remembered, it probably had been two or three full days since the last time he had eaten properly. 

Breakfast after a quick, cold shower would serve him well, and probably allow for his brain to actually work at full capacity. The early hour of the morning would provide him cover from his pestering family, long enough to do what needed to be done, but not long enough for them to wake up and join him at the table. He didn’t need a round of guilt coming silently from Paula’s wide eyes when he refused her a request, or the way Sergio and Raquel looked as though they may rip away his freedoms to make decisions. He was not so incapacitated anymore than he needed an executor, though far too often they seemed to forget that. 

After rinsing his face, the cold water cooled him to the bone but woke him up all the same, he slowly crept out of his room and past Sergio and Raquel’s. Even with the thick, light blue curtain drawn over the wide window which made the front wall of their room, he was certain they would be able to spot him. Their parental senses worked to their advantage when it came to Paula, but it irked him when they spun it against him. He was a grown man and didn’t need the same treatment they gave her. 

The restaurant was mostly empty, apart from a few sleepy faces quietly eating their morning meal so they could be ushered out on tours or different excursions. He knew there was a delicate time crunch before he would need to whisk himself back to his room, uncertain of which dates Raquel had plans to wake up early and take advantage of activities exclusive to the island.

His concerns seemed to summon Sergio all the same, and he tried one last pitiful attempt to slump and hide from his brother’s view behind the small coffee cup. 

“Playing _ you can’t see me _ wouldn’t even work on Paula,” he stated as he pulled out the chair across from his brother’s. Sergio sighed heavily as he looked from the pitiful single piece of toast and a few pieces of fruit in front of Andrés, biting his tongue to keep from lecturing. He titled his head forward, eyebrows low as he shook his head, still trying to silently communicate all the same.

“Spare me the lecture, Sergio, I am simply not hungry this morning.” His stomach threatened to grumble louder, and he quickly took a bite of his food to try and keep it appeased. 

“You missed dinner, and you look like you are ready to bolt back to your room.” 

Andrés waved his hand, as though it could serve as some sort of half apology. “Work called, and the company is my first priority.” He placed the bread down, reaching for the warm coffee once again. His empty stomach turned sour at his continued insistence that caffeine would be enough to provide him with sustenance, and he pushed the cup away as well. 

“Well, I hope it is enough to keep you going all day. We are all going to Cousin Island.” 

Sergio’s statement was firm and decided, sitting up straight as he made it perfectly clear there was no room for a debate. All the same, all Andrés could do was laugh, just loud enough to break through the stillness of the morning surrounding them. “You’re mistaken. I really do not like boats and will unfortunately not be in attendance.” 

“We are leaving in an hour, Andrés. It is not negotiable.” 

As the beads of sweat started to form on his brow, he knew he would argue with anyone trying to tell him it wasn’t even nine in the morning. It was impossibly warm already, and he had no desire to continue to sit in the sweltering heat. Even between the gentle spray of the ocean picking up as the boat jetted along the water, and the thinner material of his cream linen suit, the heat seemed to be all consuming. His mind went back to his air conditioned room, and his laptop the only object he needed to keep him company, especially over the small mass of people huddled too closely together. They were only adding to the heat by sitting this closely together, skin red from the sun even with the thin tarp hanging overhead. 

He tried to watch Paula and allow her smile to improve his mood. She was sitting next to Raquel towards the middle of the boat, eagerly craning her neck and watching the jets at the back of the boat twirling the water as they were carried closer to their final destination. If things were only so simple for him, but he knew they never had been. Even when he had been her age, there were other things taking precedence, discouraging play the same way he insisted his niece be able to participate in. Perhaps his error was in allowing little pamphlets or photos dropped suggestively on his desk by his family, or Paula’s big eyes asking one final time for him to accompany them on the holiday, because it certainly wasn’t his fault for having an unspoken desire to be whisked away from the office. 

He leaned closer to Sergio so he could whisper, trying to discreetly wave his hand at the people accompanying them on the tour. “My suit is getting wet, and if we were meant to be around other people, why couldn’t it be the ones from the office?” 

Sergio let out a low mumble, flicking his fingers at his brother’s chin which was too close to his ear. “You’ve been complaining since the waiting area, Andrés.” 

“It was too hot in that room, Sergio. There weren’t even any fans going yet, and there were bugs crawling around on the floor. I could test positive for a disease,” he said, his words playful but his tone too hostile. Sergio turned his head to look directly at him, his looking screaming to put an end to his complaints. Andrés knew he wasn’t trying to pick a fight with his brother, but it all could have been avoided if he had simply been allowed to remain behind. Now, they were too far away to even consider turning around until the excursion was completely through. 

“We were only there for a short period of time, and Paula behaved better than you. Do you really need an eight year old to set an example for you?” Andrés merely grumbled in response, the vast majority of his senses still trying to remind him it was not in his best interests to argue. 

Exiting the boat did little to improve his mood. The sand dunes still reflected the sun, almost blindingly even with sunglasses on. The low grumbling of his stomach was already starting to pick up again, and combined with the sunlight was leaving him trying to balance each step, one right after the other. He was far too dizzy to be attempting to go out on this family outing, and glanced over his shoulder once at the boat. 

The further they trekked to see the large tortoises, the more exhausted he got. His mind berated him, reminding every few seconds his energy would have better spent responding to emails and reviewing documents he’d been sent. Still, his legs managed to carry on, though he was certain with each step that followed he might just collapse on the ground in front of him. 

The pestering buzz floating near his ear, always returning even when he swatted at it, only added to his irritations. “There are too many mosquitos here,” he loudly complained, a few heads turning to look in his direction. He glared them down, standing taller as they shrunk away. 

“Stop complaining and when we get there, I’ll let you use our bug spray,” Raquel said, giving him a dirty look. He raised his hands to speak his innocence, and smirked at the way the looked seemed to take permanent residence on her face. She stepped ahead, trying to keep up at the front of the line with Paula. 

If not for himself, he should at least have been able to be happy for Paula as they reached their final destination. As they were greeted by the first few, giant tortoises, and he could hear her excited cries as she spoke of how some were even larger than she was. Each word served as a beckoning call until he’d finally had enough of everything spinning around him. 

“Can’t you get your daughter to quiet down?” He snapped at Sergio. A better man might have shrunk at the glare he received, as Sergio nodded to a spot away from the majority of the group to have this argument. 

“Andrés, she hasn’t seen you in weeks. She simply is excited to be here with us, with _ you_, and you are acting like—” 

“Like what?” He challenged in return. “Like a man who needs to do everything for his company? The company which made this little holiday possible to begin with?” 

“The company is fine, Andrés, and you know that,” Sergio replied, trying to keep his voice calm and low enough that those trying to enjoy the drama of the scene would not be able to hear them. 

Andrés could feel his blood boiling underneath his skin. This was all simply the effect of being forced away from the office and the work he knew he should be focusing on. He might have agreed he was overreacting to Rio leaving to work for Tokio, especially when he had never been particularly impressed by the kid. Still, even if he was mediocre talent he had walked away from everything only days after the dust settled. There was no way it didn’t look as if he was running away from the threat, when he should have been already planning an attack of his own. 

His stomach took a moment to scream at him again, and he tugged his hands through his hair as he tried not to give into misdirecting his frustrations at Sergio. “You don’t see the bigger picture here, what we stand to lose,” he argued, keeping his tongue in cheek. 

“Andrés, what is this really about?” 

He closed his eyes, digging his fingers into his scalp. The concern in his brother’s voice raised small goosebumps on the back of his neck, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He didn’t need to look to know people were failing to give him any privacy, and it only made the situation all the worse. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Sergio,” he countered through gritted teeth. 

“You’re trying to shove down your need for connection, because you’re afraid of what could happen if you pursue it again,” he whispered, trying to coddle him with every carefully selected word. “But don’t throw every good thing in your life away because of all your pretenses—” 

Andrés felt the pounding in his head, the lack of sleep and the harsh realities of Sergio’s words mixing in a way he simply did not want to deal with. He wasn’t ready to surrender that level of control, particularly in front of an audience, eyes flickering away but ears still turned up in their direction. The last thing he could do was to grasp on to the frail notion this was all about the company. “If _ you _ had done a better job when I’d been away, maybe I wouldn’t have so much paranoia and I wouldn’t have to try to build it all over again.” 

He recoiled at his words, tightly closing his mouth as the shame settled in. He’d taken it too far, and the way Sergio took a step back confirmed it. He wanted to apologize, reach out and reassuringly squeeze his brother’s neck as he often did to express sincerity. But, Raquel was already between them, enough heat rising off her to be felt miles away. 

“That’s_ enough. _I shouldn’t need to remind you, _ we _ put off everything for you, Andrés.” She was almost shouting now, but at least the crowd had better judgment to slowly back away. “We know what you’re afraid of, and we know it’s more than just about some stupid kid leaving the label.”

“If this is your version of a good cop, bad cop routine, I think you need a bit more parenting rehearsal before your child starts laughing at it too,” he hissed. It came as no surprise when Raquel’s hand twitched at her side, and he stood tall prepared for a heavy sting to be left across her cheek. Instead, she only continued shaking, dark storm clouds in her eyes revealing he was only making matters worse for himself when he should be making a best effort to repair them. But, with the sun beating down on him, the returning growl of his dissatisfied stomach, and sleep trying to claim where he stood, he couldn’t drag an apology off his tongue. 

“You don’t get to direct your anger at everyone else around you!” She shouted, standing her own ground against him. From somewhere behind her, Andrés could see one of the tour operators start to move to break up the increasing hostility between them. Sergio simply raised his hand, a soft shake of his head to discourage anyone from trying to defuse the tension between them. 

“Then stop trying to control my decisions! I no longer need a power of attorney!” 

Raquel’s scornful laugh burned his ears then, her frustration coming out in unexpected ways. Perhaps they’d simply never made it this far into a disagreement, normally ripped apart by Sergio. It had been a while since there was a reason for animosity between them, and most stemmed from his original concerns about her relationship with his younger brother. He could feel a heavy weight drop on him, the root of the problem a result of his ill-equipped means of dealing with a minor setback feeling as if the world were crumbling under his feet again. His pride was only further threatened by the audience he knew was at least catching a small part of their daily entertainment watching him inevitably be humiliated by someone who was not his partner. 

“No one wants to be responsible for you anymore, Andrés! You are strong enough to stand on your own feet again, and we are here to provide support!” He winced at her words, his own anger being dragged away by the blunt truth she threw in his face. He opened his mouth to interrupt, only to be quickly cut off as she moved a step closer. “You’re bottling your feelings and trying to run away from them, and—” she gestured angrily at their setting, at what should have been the makings of a memorable family outing, and the crushing blow hitting when her finger motioned back and forth between her and Sergio, “—and we will not be your punching bags!” 

“My intentions were not to abuse you, either of you.” He looked down at the ground in front of his feet then, the first curled at his sides loosening one finger at a time as the red painting his face quickly receded. Slowly, he brought himself to look at her in the eye again, his own bitter self-hatred rolling the words off his tongue again as his tone shifted to try and persuade his guilt. “If that is what you think I am doing, then I will happily return to Spain.” 

She rolled her eyes, taking a step back at his pitiful attempt at an apology. “Going back to Spain will solve nothing, Andrés. The problem you need to confront isn’t there.” 

“Then what would you have me do, Raquel?” 

“You’re a grown man, I shouldn’t have to tell you how to fix what’s going on inside of your head, or how to properly apologize to your family.” 

Something must have flashed in his eyes then, because she looked at him with more understanding and concern than he knew he deserved. He tried to look away, but the respect he held for her maintained their eye contact. His misery tightened in his chest, and he was torn between wishing she’d still unleash her residual fury. Her hand pushed back on his shoulder as he tried to take a step forward to make amends with Sergio, further cementing him in their conversation. 

“Andrés, you had a very bad year,” she said, trying to soften her words then. He closed his eyes, tilting his head towards the sky, knowing her cutting him down was more in line with what he deserved. He wasn't prepared for her empathy to win out, and he braced himself for it to hurt more than her anger did. “I know you're afraid to open yourself up to trusting other people again, of loving someone new again, but that doesn't give you an excuse to take it out on the people who did everything they could to help you."

He felt a new shaking in his legs, as his strength weakened at her words. Somewhere hidden deep inside, he knew the truth behind her message, but was unwilling to unravel what each line meant in front of a crowd. It was enough to be confronted by their mutual understanding from the underlying overlap in their separate histories, and he felt his body start to tumble. Her hands found his forearms, once again reaffirming her willingness to help him even when he did not deserve such kindness. A small smile tugged on her lips, compassion shining in her eyes. Sergio’s hand was suddenly above Raquel’s, his own reassuring squeeze trying to push away the remaining demons longing to terrorize him. 

The journey back to the hotel was filled with a comfortable silence, Raquel’s head rested on Sergio’s shoulder while Paula curled across both of their laps. Andrés leaned his own head against the widow of the passenger van, the heavy weight of the morning having exhausted them. By the time they’d returned to the hotel, each had taken one of the reclining beds in front of the pool while a newly refreshed Paula splashed in the shallow waters. The mood was shifting to be more pleasant between them, even though it would take a few more days for him to completely pay his penance. Still, even with new feelings of peace and a promise to sleep well that evening, something he couldn’t quite place his finger on was still missing. Every time he tried to close his eyes and rest with the calming sounds of the ocean, he felt a small sadness creep up again. 

He mumbled an early goodnight, promising he would have something delivered to his room. After enough reassurance, his family finally let him go with a guarantee they would see him again come morning. He stumbled back to his room, making good on his promise the moment he reached the provided telephone. As he landed back on the bed, he pinched the bridge of his nose. The quiet of his room was still not the sound he was looking for, instead only increasing his own emptiness. Raquel had evoked the beginning of some strong realization he was still ill-equipped to deal with, even in his solitude. Beautiful words and melodies quietly tried to speak to him only to be drowned out by his own stubbornness. Instead, he devoured the plate delivered to him, head hitting the pillow hard the moment he swallowed the last piece.

He clung to the sides of his pillow, pressing it as hard as his feeble strength would allow over his eyes. He could still feel the heat of the sun breaking through the curtains, which were not aiding his attempt to try and get any extra sleep. The few hours were rough and interrupted, touch and go as he tossed and turned for what seemed to be an eternity. The crashing waves, no more than a few hundred meters, would normally serve to relax his mind and help him drift off. But, the argument kept ringing in his head, gnawing at his heart and making him think of things he shouldn’t be. It boiled down to the simple fact they did not know what they were talking about, at least not when it came to personal matters. There might have been overstep in the way he was throwing himself into work from a million miles away, unable to actually stay current without the buzz of the office to update him. After all, they’d had other stepbacks and come out with minimal assistance from him, especially when he’d been confined to his hospital bed a year ago. He shouldn’t carry around his fears so much, not when they’d solidified the strength of their team.

He threw his legs over the side of the bed, slowly forcing himself to stand. There wasn’t much point in staying in bed, waiting for his back to ache more than it already did. He rubbed his eyes, the faint taste of coffee already dancing on his tongue. It would wake him up enough to make better decisions. But, his laptop called out to him, putting off the idea of breakfast as his fingers tapped the lid. 

The chirping of a bird perched on the hibiscus tree outside his window distracted him, eyes drawn to the things he was here to enjoy. So far, all he’d done since arriving in the island paradise was waste a day working, and the next complaining about his misfortunes, ending the evening having upset Sergio, Raquel, and himself. The temptation to give into needing to work was always going to be there, but he’d be incapable of getting anything useful done. Besides, he had delegated his tasks accordingly, and it would only serve to make him a cosseter over his employees to continue to try and rip away control from so far away. He had allowed them to be part of his team for a reason, and he needed to have more faith in their capabilities when he was not there to put out the flames. Monica alone was more than capable of doing her fair share, and it would only chase her away to a better assistant job if he wasn’t careful. 

He pulled his hand away, trying to reaffirm his decision when the little voice at the door pulled him away from his thoughts. Quickly, he grabbed for his discarded shirt before opening the door. 

“Tío Andrés,” Paula grinned, a yellow bucket with a blue shovel in hand. “Mama said I needed to ask you to come to the beach with me.” 

Andrés smiled, shaking his head to look across the cobbled walkway to the other villa. Raquel was wearing a nicer, yellow sundress, and his brother’s arm around her waist like an accessory. “There are better ways than blackmail to get me to babysit.” 

Raquel matched his playful glare, though he knew there was more truth to hers after his previous behavior. He’d neglected his duties to ensure the day had been special for the niece he’d grown to love, and it was the least he could do to make it up to her. He kept eye contact with Raquel as he crouched down. Once he was level with Paula, he smiled. “I think we should go to the beach, fill your bucket with sand, and dump it all over mama and Sergi’s bed,” he teased, tapping the rim of her bucket. 

“I wanna bury you,” she offered instead as she laughed, dancing from toe to toe as she turned her head towards the beach. 

He shook his head, snatching her into his arms then. “I think I’d rather throw you in the ocean.” She giggled, squirming in his arms. He glanced, one final time, back at his computer, but could feel the heavy weight of Sergio and Raquel carefully watching him as he did. He placed her back down, holding up a finger to her exasperated parents. “I need to get ready, but then I am all yours,” he promised. 

He nodded along as Raquel lectured him about the importance of ensuring Paula regularly applied sun cream and had a healthy lunch consisting of more than the first dessert she pointed to on the menu. Water still sloshed in his ears from his shower, and he was grateful for the assistance in drowning out the rules he wasn’t going to listen to anyway. They already knew he took perfectly good care of their daughter when they were away, even if he bent a few of their parental guidelines. Underneath all the pretense, they had to know it was part of his job description. “Will there be anything else?” He asked, nodding his head to Paula who was already ready to run away without him. 

“Try to have fun, Andrés.” 

“I am certain my day will be better than yours, she’s far better company,” he badgered. “Take your time. I do have my fair share to make up to you.” 

“Thank you, Andrés,” Sergio replied, still looking as though he might let Paula bury him in the sand, never to be seen again. “I’ll call you if we’re out for more than a few hours.” 

“I don’t need you, mother hen,” he replied over his shoulder as he walked away, quickening his pace until he caught up with Paula. 

They made their way down the beach, warm sand tickling their toes. Paula ran towards the incoming waves, before running away when one came up to her knees, nearly taking her down with it as it retreated. 

“What do you want to do, Paula?” He asked, admiring her ability to lose her focus so easily. A part of him throbbed, envious of the way he’d never quite been able to do the same. It was lost, as he watched her start to pick up an array of sea shells to place in her bucket. He stuck his hand in, pulling one of the yellow tuba shells from it, admiring the beauty of the intricate swirls before he held it up to Paula’s ear. “You know, you can hear the ocean if you listen carefully.” 

She dropped her bucket next to her leg, pulling the shell out of his hand to listen for herself. Her eyes lit up as she confirmed the simple truth, and the sparkle dancing in her eyes reminded him of the ones in blue eyes he did not care to admit he fervently missed.

“That’s so cool!” She shrieked and he wished he’d had the foresight to cover his ears. Still, the ringing was a small price to pay for the joy on her face. 

As they passed a few other families on the beach, Paula started to stare longingly at the different shaped sandcastles crafted. He could already see the wheels turning in her head, and he cringed. It broke every instinct inside of him to have any desire to participate in trying to build the perfect sandcastle. Sand was worse than modelling clay, and even with all his natural artistic abilities and countless hours spent bettering himself, there were simply some talents he was not destined to possess. He could move past his failures, but only by avoiding them entirely. She grabbed his hand, pulling him towards an empty spot along the coast, which seemed to have enough sand to make a trail all the way back to Madrid. 

“I want to make a sandcastle,” she finally said, and he tried not to groan. “A big one!” 

He glanced at the water, wondering if there might not be a way to bribe her to do something else. The sun was blazing down on them, and the water would offer some protection. With a set of goggles and a snorkel, he might just be able to bribe her away from the idea, the promise of different tropical fish to delight and entertain her. But, just as soon as he opened his mouth, he snapped it shut again. Paula was already filling up the bucket, lost in her task.

He sat down in the sand, grumbling as it already started to stick to his legs and the thin material of his clothes. Paula giggled and started to dictate tasks, speaking of tall towers, specific details for windows and different parts of the castle. He wished more than anything to have his drawing pad and pencils, knowing he could bring her image to life if she would just pick another medium. Still, he gathered thick clusters of sand in his hands, moving to kneel in order to give him the best angle to build. 

“Don’t forget to get some water,” he instructed. She obediently ran to fill the bucket, half full with water. Both hands supported the weight of the bucket as she made her way back with the water. He helped guide it to make the sand stick together better, and allow them to actually have a decent shot at building anything remotely close to a castle. 

He fell back in the sand, a loud snore escaping him as he pretended to pass out from the exhaustion. It was less of an acting job, and more the result of the warm sun and restless night making his eyelids droop. “Tío Andrés, wake up,” she whined, picking up a handful of sand and slowly funneling it onto his chest. 

He shot upright, laughing as some of the sand sprayed back at her. “Yes?” 

“Look!”

He wanted to look _ away_, tempted to tear the entire thing they’d crafted together down. He could already hear the pitch in Raquel’s voice as she antagonized him for being such a perfectionist over something meant to give her daughter a memorable experience, and he couldn’t bring himself to save his own pride. Besides, Paula danced around the castle, highlighting different areas, telling a beautiful story of a princess waiting for her prince to come and join her in the castle. He leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee and adding a perfectly timed question to keep her engaged. Finally, the tale came to an end, and she walked back over to stand next to him. Paula threw her arms around his neck then, giving him his first sense of pride in his shitty craftsmanship. He gave her a one armed hug in turn, his free hand coursing through the sand as he absentmindedly searched.

He found the final touch, a small, circular shell stuck in a thin layer of sand near his leg to be their final jewel on what his niece considered some kind of masterpiece. "Here, we need to put it right on top." 

"You can put it, if it makes you happy. Mama said you've been really sad." 

Andrés chuckled, with a small roll of his eyes. He was surprised he'd need to remind Raquel and Sergio to be mindful of what they said in front of their inquisitive young daughter. "Why does she think that?" He asked, twirling the shell between his fingers, still holding it out to her. 

"I dunno," she replied, taking the shell from him finally. As she made her way over to the castle, she turned her head and grinned at him. "Oh! I remembered something! 

He nodded, his hands stretching out behind him and sinking into the sand. “What did your mama say then?” 

“She just said you needed your friend. The one who always makes you smile." Her fingers delicately tried to place the shell as instructed. “Do you miss your friend?” 

He closed his eyes, shaking his head as the words hit him square in the chest. He might go so far as to say he missed the days when Sergio was more oblivious to romance, and certainly did not need Raquel’s assistance in accepting the truth for himself. All the same, his heart softened at the innocence of Paula’s words. She moved away from the sandcastle, standing closer to him as she admired their work. “Can I tell you a secret?” 

She nodded eagerly. “Like when you let me stay up past bedtime, or gave me ice cream for dinner the other night?” 

“Exactly.” He grinned, nodding his head. Somehow, his pride could allow it to slip past his lips, the freedom he needed to get the weight of his shoulders without the pressures of judgment hanging over him like a heavy cloud. “I do miss him,” he admitted, freely, his smile softening. Hearing the words aloud should have frightened him. All he thought he’d needed was here on the island with him, the physical presence of his work laptop serving as a stand in for the company. But there was no more denying the source of his irritably extended beyond yet another play by Tokio to bring down his company. Instead, it came from the regret of knowing he would not be there to watch Martín bask in the glory of his first live performance. 

They made their way back to the hotel, covered in so much sand Andrés knew there wouldn’t be much point in attempting to salvage his clothes. He would probably need three or four showers to get all of the sand completely off every inch of his body, and the cold water would feel good on his sun kissed skin. Yet, the itch of sand glued to him was the least of his concerns, his mind a thousand miles away. He wanted to grab his phone from the room to place a call, but it wouldn’t be enough. 

Paula rocked in the hammock outside their private villa, and he watched out for Sergio and Raquel to come strolling up. When they did, Sergio’s arm was wrapped around her waist, as she leaned into him. It was hardly the most practical way to walk, but the way they looked at each other left him feeling more hollow than before. In such a paradise, there should only be room for joy. Raquel and Sergio Were able to accomplish that, because they knew it was only paradise with the right person to soak it all in with. Perhaps it was too early to mark _ this _ feeling as right, but he ought to be more willing to try. 

“We’re going to dinner, do we need to hide your computer so you don’t throw yourself back into work?” Sergio asked, the hint of seriousness matching the look on his face. 

Andrés raised his hands, turning his head from side to side. “No, I can behave.” He gestured to the sand, covering him from head to toe. “As you can see, I’ll probably be in the shower until the sun comes up in the morning.” 

“Paula, thank your uncle for spending the day with you,” Raquel said, reaching for her daughter's hand. Whatever plans they had for the evening, he chuckled at Raquel getting to spend time getting sand off of her. It served only fair, a punishment fit for running their mouths about him. 

“Thank you, Tío Andrés,” she said as she gave him a one-armed hug. 

“I am happy to build sandcastles with you whenever you wish,” he replied, rising to his feet from his chair. “But I think I need to decide what I should do about my _ friend.” _ He winked at Raquel, rolling his eyes at Sergio. The simple line would have to be enough for now, even though he was far from done discussing the topic with the two of them. Still, he would take his solitude to consider his options, allowing his beautiful family the time alone they needed. Some part of it still stung, the effect of his bitter loneliness at missing the same companionship between them, knowing his own insecurities should not hold him back from pursuing an opportunity to possess it himself. 

  
————

There was not a single regret in leaving the island to be there tonight, not when he’d seen Martín glowing brighter than the tropical sun as the crowd sang the chorus of his songs. Now, he listened attentively to each word Martín said, eyes taking in each animation of his face or body movements as he tried to slow his brain long enough for the words to come out as coherent sentences. 

It all amounted to the same thing, but he could listen to Martín say “it was the best night of my life,” over and over again if that’s what he wanted. 

“Andrés?” He asked, snapping his fingers in front of his face. He’d missed the part where Martín had started asking him a question, the effect of jet lag and simply being lost in watching him talk. “I should probably stop talking,” he laughed, low and nervous and Andrés blinked as Martín started to withdraw his hand. 

“Perhaps,” he teased, a thin smile on his face. Martín’s enthusiasm was infectious, and he grabbed his hand in both of his, placing a chaste kiss against his knuckles as he kept his eyes on him. The laugh cut off in Martín’s throat, as though uncertain how to respond with Andrés’ lips against him. He stood, slowly letting Martín’s hand drop from his, but the moment the contact was gone, his fingers itched at his sides wanting to hold onto him once more. “Or, perhaps we just need better scenery for a proper celebration.” 

Martín’s hands reached out, grabbing the small vase of flowers off the table, almost cradling it against his chest. “What did you have in mind?”


	18. Berlín

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this one took a minute longer than I anticipated...but I think the end results were worth it? :)

Dark shades of purple colored the night sky, the light of the moon breaking through thin clouds as the last drops of rain since his arrival in Berlin hit the ground. There was something almost dreamy and amorous in the view from outside his window, though it could have just as easily stemmed from some smaller detail. More likely, the feeling warming him to his core stemmed from the beautiful bouquet he was holding on his lap, his hands wrapped about sides of the small vase as though the orchids were his most important possession; or, the man sitting next to him, his enchanting smile seeming to be a new permanent feature. It felt more than a string of good luck to have Andrés here with him now, his head racing with a surge of pride and slight hesitancy in wanting to believe just how far he’d come to be here with him now. Usually, he was far more confident when the interest he tried to direct towards someone seemed to be clearly reciprocated. But, as he glanced up again, taking in the chiseled features of Andrés’ jaw, dark eyes fixated ahead on the road, he felt the doubts setting in again. Even with the facts in his favor, and a magnificent tangible gift sitting in his hands, it was still hard to believe in any deeper meaning why Andrés had made all of these efforts for him. Still, his heart ached from the tempting call of hope all the same.

As the car came to a slow stop inside of Bebelplatz, Martín’s jaw fell. The striking buildings surrounding the hotel were amongst the most beautiful he had seen in the short time since his arrival in Berlin. They were far different from the more unkempt buildings he and Helsinki had been walking around only two nights before, speaking to Andrés’ refined tastes and expectations. While he imagined there would be an upgrade between their accommodations, he couldn’t have been prepared for the vast discrepancies even in just the exteriors of the buildings. The cool white and yellow lights illuminating the streets reminded him of the ones he’d performed in front of only a few short hours ago, but made his chest feel tight, uncertain of his ability to belong. An impressive stone entrance-way above the hotel caught his eye, and his hand relaxed on the interior car door handle. Instead, he lost himself in admiring the beauty of the long, cream columns encasing the windows of each individual hotel room. It was almost as though they should be somewhere in Italy or Greece, looking at ancient pieces of history then merely out celebrating. Regardless of the location, it all seemed to scream back at him that this was too luxurious, even for a star on the rise.

He was ripped from his thoughts as the door opened, a smiling Andrés standing tall in front of him. “I promised you the evening you deserved after such a grand performance,” he said, standing just far enough back Martín would comfortably be able to exit the car. He waited patiently, as Martín tried to get his body to start moving faster than the slow crawl of a snail. If he could not maintain his confidence from the performance, it was best to try and fake it all the same.

“If this is the standard reward after a first performance,” Martín started, finally stepping out of the car to close the door behind him, “I would hate to know what it takes to qualify for upgraded treatment.”

Andrés chuckled, relieving some of the tension Martín carried on his shoulders. Perhaps it was simply enough to know Andrés believed him worthy of being here. Helsinki and Luka had both mentioned his career would continue to advance from here, the record having been willing to send him out so early on in his contract. Still, none of that mattered nearly as much as living up to Andrés’ expectations. For someone who seemed to chase after the next best thing, he had left what Martín could only assume was an island paradise to be here with him. He felt the familiar tug of hope around his heart once again, a grin of his own spreading across his face.

He was far more alert to Andrés’ subtle movements than he had been in the past, as he intermingled his left arm with Martín’s right. As they walked away from the car, Andrés’ body leaned closer and his gentle warmth heated his side, increasing his sense of belonging as they walked past the magenta urns on either side of the stone steps leading into the hotel. His ear ticked with the heat coming from Andrés' lips, only a few inches away from him when he whispered confidently, "you already had the standard reward waiting for you in the dressing room.” Martín turned his head to look at him, his puzzled expression prompting Andrés to continue. “This is better than that. You deserve more than that.”

If the less than subtle flirtation were only meant to toy with him, he wasn’t sure he had the self-control to bring himself to care. For all the sparks between them, Andrés had been increasingly forward since they’d united in Berlin. The night was already memorable, but this felt like it could be a beginning. Just as easily as he wanted to believe in that possibility, he knew his own biased judgement could just as easily be the culprit. He needed something else to focus on, before his words could betray his thoughts and run the risk of being laughed at.

Their new surroundings proved efficient enough. The interior of the hotel was just as contemporary and alluring as the exterior, but he could barely make out any definitive objects or highlights of the reception area apart from the columns extending to the ceiling, partitioning off different seating areas with a variety of rounded or squared red chairs. Instead, his attention fixated on his arm still wrapped with Andrés’. The cordial gesture and the close contact of Andrés’ breath against his ear had left the hairs on the back of his neck standing, as his tongue tapped his top lip. He scolded himself for feeling so childish about the entire thing, but it was endearing all the same.

When Andrés pulled him into the elevator, his hand slowly fell back to his side, Martín’s head fell backwards against the side wall of the elevator, both just a few inches out of reach from each other. With him to enjoy the evening with, he could fully appreciate the experience of his first performance. He could still hear the roar of the crowd, clapping and cheering for him as he exited the stage. His blood was still pumping quickly in his veins, the high of the evening only made better by having someone important there to keep the high going. When he looked up again, Andrés was watching him, inquisitive but politely quiet.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” Martín mumbled, certain there was a schoolboy grin on his face, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

A flash of uncertainty that just as easily could have been a trick of the light crossed Andrés’ face, before he focused to undo the knot of his tie. Martín wanted to swat his thoughts away, just as easily as he wanted to take a step closer to him and take his hand again. It was torturous to continue to have all these little touches with Andrés, coupled with moments he could almost see the same feelings etched on the other man’s face, but seemingly never line up in just the right moment to make a move. Instead, as the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened with a ding, Andrés turned as he started to walk out without him. “I need to make a stop in my room for a moment, if you don’t mind waiting for me at our table.”

“Taking a break from my company already?” He asked with mock offense, raising his eyebrow. Andrés raised a finger to his lips, turning his head as his eyes sparkled with a small hint of mischief. He turned away to walk to his room, without another word.

Martín reached for one of the buttons, waiting for the doors to close before he ran his fingers through his hair. The little details he continued to notice about Andrés only served to drive him crazier, increasing his interest enough to lose control. In these moments, the little jokes or small looks were undeniably done knowingly by Andrés. Though he’d known for a while his feelings were something more than just infatuation, he never felt like there was enough to confirm things between them were mutual. The soft touches were never quite affectionate enough to actually confirm anything, balancing carefully on the line of being professional and increasing their friendship. Now, the possibility was dawning on him there was something blossoming stronger between them if they chose to acknowledge and pursue it.

Then there was the small matter of the flowers, vase still in hand. He felt stupid for not asking Andrés to take the gift with him for safe keeping, but another part of him couldn’t bear to part from the gift. Before they left for Madrid, he would make sure he found the means to press them and place them in his bag. Out of laziness, he’d held onto a few too many things cluttering his apartment. But, there were so few things of actual value he’d possessed, or ever wanted to purchase. His instruments and a few reminders of his dad were all he’d ever cared about, always being mindful of and making sure he never let anything bad happen to them. As he glanced at the flowers, he felt the same protectiveness. Some things were simply made to last, and he would make sure these were one of them.

He paced in the small elevator, trying to let it all soak in enough to find some small crack to prove he was imagining it all in his head. It would be easier to accept he’d made it all up if he were the one to find proof first; it would be much harder to be dismissed by Andrés himself.

As the doors opened to the top floor of the hotel, he found little things to fixate on. Half of the restaurant was sealed within glass walls, while the rest opened up onto a beautiful balcony. A few patrons, covered in lavish spring coats, graced the tables outside now the rain had come to a stop. The paneled wooden canopy above their heads wouldn’t offer much in means of protection, but offered a view of the moon hanging in the sky. It was enough to ground him in the moment and allow him to get the maître d' to take him to their table.

He was led away from the center of the room, where a stone pillar was decorated with two ancient Greek styled sculptures standing on an oak box separating the long green sitting booth. Couples at the connected tables seemed too close together, easily interrupted or overheard. A few of the circular tables away from the center offered more privacy, but very little in means of a view. Naturally, it came as no surprise to him the way Andrés arranged for them to have the perfect mixture of both. It was almost laughable how predictable the other man’s neurotic traits were becoming second nature to him now. Still, their perfect proximity to have a small view of the Berlin skyline as well as the cast iron plants adoring the restaurant.

He waited patiently, glancing around the various tables within a short distance of theirs. Naturally, Andrés’ meticulously designed evening would include food which looked masterfully sculpted in the kitchen. He’d never understood the importance in making meals artistic in their presentation, beyond appeasing those who would be too busy snapping photos of their plates instead of actually eating anyway. He rolled his eyes as he leaned back in his chair, wondering how he’d ever allowed himself to ever start feeling so confident around Andrés. Each little distinction in their tastes and values ought to send him running in the other direction. It shouldn’t be so impressive to see how passionate he was about things he found exceptional, and Martín knew he definitely shouldn’t make it so easy to be swept up off his feet by the sparkling, glamorous spectacles. He’d never cared before, and if he was being honest, he still did not. The things Andrés could offer or introduce him to were of little interest to him, at least not the same way. It was more than enough for Andrés to simply be there with him tonight, enjoying the spoils of the evening or picking up something ordered off the street.

Hands landed faintly on his shoulders, calling him from his thoughts as his reflexes made his head lean back against Andrés standing behind him. For a moment he was certain he’d stopped breathing, as Andrés’ hands stroked down his shoulders to his forearms, before all too soon they were gone again. As he rounded the table, nothing could have prepared him for the way Andrés knocked his breath away. He’d already looked dashing in the purple suit, but had taken their short time apart in his hotel room to change into something more casual. Martín bit down hard on his bottom lip, eyes carefully tracing the way he looked in the tan and olive poplin suit. He’d left the button of the suit jacket undone, shirt tucked into the fitted waist of matching tan pants. Though the colors made his bronze skin glow, nothing was as distracting as the popped open buttons, leading down the curve of his neck. The v-cut of the shirt accented his collar bone, and Martín was certain if he stared any longer, his tooth might draw blood from his lip.

Andrés’ fingers curled around the back of his chair, still standing as he indulged himself to Martín’s reaction. Words of protest caught in his throat as he wanted to point out how unfair it was for Andrés to find yet another flirtatious way to provoke a reaction out of him, when Martín had nothing to tempt him with in return. The heat in his face continued to drown out his weak objections, and made the smirk on Andrés’ face grow. He commanded Martín’s attention as he acknowledged his stare, “I thought this attire was more appropriate for the evening.”

Martín gestured down to his suit, crinkled from the wear of the performance. “I think you wanted to be the more refreshed, attractive one at the table. Finally, Andrés pulled out his chair, taking the seat across from Martín. When he hoped Andrés wasn’t looking, he took another glance at the way the opened shirt rested against his chest.

“I wore that suit all day,” he said with a playful pout, and a turn of his head. “It wouldn’t do anymore, Martín. I would hate to embarrass you and ruin your evening by being ill-dressed.”

“I think you’re full of shit,” Martín grumbled under his breath, picking up his empty wine glass, grabbing at the first thing he could to try and rip his focus away from just how well olive green suited Andrés. He was far from needing another reason to be hung up on the handsome man in front of him,  
  
“I hope you know what to order, you were first to the table after all.”

His head shot up, looking back as Andrés beamed in return. He should have known this would be yet another test, everything with Andrés always masked in some kind of mystery and rarely straight forward. His jaw clenched even if his anger was over exaggerated. If Andrés wanted to set the mood for their night this way, he could prove he was a worthy opponent. “Alcohol is alcohol,” Martín said, with a small wag of his eyebrow. “Just because it comes from a certain year or with a specific label—“

“I knew you were inexperienced, but now I think you’re just trying to torture me.” His hands cupped over his ears as he cringed.

“Is it a personality trait for all rich men to be this concerned about proper wine etiquette, or is this all you?” He challenged him, adding an unimpressed scoff.

“I would like to take you to one of my vineyards when we return to Spain, but I need to know you won’t embarrass me,” he countered, smilingly smugly as Martín finally glanced away again.

Martín’s attention turned to the waiter at their table before he was able to remark on the way Andrés casually suggested they might be able to do this again. With the menu in hand, he blinked at the prices uncertain of the best way to proceed. If he had to pick based simply off his best guesses of what Andrés preferred to drink, he would have to become a lot more comfortable looking at the more expensive bottles. Since it was still his decision to make, it felt wrong to select something on the higher end of the price scale. The pinot noir was the most familiar to him, recalling the times he’d been to social events for the university and served the lighter bodied wine before his meal.

“I’ve tried something similar to this,” he started with confidence, pointing to the description of the Knisper Spätburgunder. With the way Andrés watched him, an amused judgement in his eyes, he wanted to snap at him to take control of the decision making process. All the same, he held his head high and tried to proceed with ordering.

“A good choice, Martín,” Andrés said, turning over his menu. He turned his to the side as he found what he was looking for, a helpful smile on his face as he gestured to something else. “Germany is renowned for its Riesling, and I think you would like this one better.”

Glancing back at the prices on his own menu, he found his original assumptions were correct. However, Andrés seemed impressed by his modesty, and he wondered why this in particular had been one of his little tests. Far too often, he simply presumed those with money threw it around without a second thought. He couldn’t have brought himself to needlessly spend Andrés’ money even if any part of him had wanted to.  
  
When the waiter returned with the bottle, he filled Martín’s glass with a small sample. Andrés was still observing him, but this time he felt a little more certain in his good decorum. He shifted the wine around in a small circle, watching as it twirled in the glass to help release the aromas. He raised it, just enough to get a good sniff of the stony minerality. As far as he knew, there was nothing to be concerned about in the way it smelled, and he finally brought it to his lips. The hints of acacia and lilac, written in the description on the menu, were more exquisite than the bottles he’d tried before. “Maybe I can understand why you’d want to be a wine snob,” he stated, as he placed the glass back on the table. He nodded to the waiter, the final approval before Andrés’ glass was filled first, and then his to match the same level. “But alcohol is still just alcohol, Andrés,” he winked.  
  
He let out a low, unamused huff as he picked up his own glass. “I will drag you around all of Europe if that is what it takes to make your appetites more refined.”

The promises of more evening, whisked away from the setting of the office made his thoughts start to wander. The longer the evening went on, the less Andrés presented himself exclusively in a professional manner. The same hesitance which kept his hand twitching behind his wine glass to keep from reaching out to grab Andrés’ hand, seemed to be reflected back at him in the way Andrés was not making his intentions crystal clear. It was probably too hopeful to consider he had made Andrés just as flustered, but the odds weren’t so stacked against him either. He decided it was best if he tried to test the waters for himself.

“If the prices were on my menu, does that mean this is now all _my _treat? I would’ve been on my best behavior for our dat—“he paused then, the word refusing to form all the way, giving Andrés one last cue to gently let him down.

"Dinner is still on me," he said, grinning as he changed the topic, "though, since you were so kind as to introduce my assistant to your friend Denver, she has been rather distracted. So, perhaps dinner should be your expense."

Martín chuckled, glancing awkwardly away from him. He hadn’t been corrected and he could feel the flutter around his stomach as a mix of emotions and the buzz of the alcohol settled in. He’d barely recognized the mention of his friend, until he was running over Andrés’ words again in his head. "Wait. She's mentioned Denver?" He wasn't sure how much he trusted his friend to keep his mouth shut about a few other things, and wondered just what had gotten out since he'd played a willing participant in letting his two worlds connect so much.

"He's come by a few times. I must say, he is quite the improvement from the last man she dated. So, at least I can thank you for keeping decent company."

Martín released the breath knotted up in his chest as their conversation about Denver came to an end as quickly as it had begun. Still, he couldn’t help but grin at the hidden compliment. While his friend had his own shortcomings, it felt good to know Andrés approved of the only friend he’d ever really had. His two worlds would continue to intertwine as the months went on, between more time spent developing his career and the more serious Denver’s new relationship got. It was one less burden of worry off his shoulder now, as he thought perhaps there were fewer differences between him and Andrés.

“We’ve been friends since I moved to Spain,” Martín said, picking up the long, red menu in front of him. Their small preexisting overlap in connection came back to him then, as he asked, “He also knows one of Raquel’s friends. Do you know Nairobi?” As he turned the page open, he couldn’t understand the need for such a large book if there was only going to be two pages, one on each of the covers, with very small black print listening on a few options towards the middle of each.

“You knew Nairobi and never thought to ask her to send your demo along to Sergio before he stumbled across you?” Andrés asked, his face etched with light surprise. His tone made Martín think about just how many others in his position might have taken advantage of different links to get ahead. He couldn’t see himself willingly choosing the easier path, as he was never one to shy away from the hard work necessary to get what he wanted. 

“I didn’t know she had any connections, she never mentioned Sergio or Raquel,” he replied with a shrug, glancing back down to his menu. “Besides, I prefer to have done it all on my own. I didn’t ask anyone for any favors, my music was good enough to win you over all on its own.”

“You were more than good enough,” he replied. “Sergio called rather excited that night, and you’ve had my attention ever since.”

He beamed, placing down his menu. “I can still hear them chanting my name, and cheering me on. I didn’t know how electric it felt to have a huge crowd singing my songs back to me like that. Some of the smaller bars would sing along, but it was never the same.”

“One day, they’ll all be there for your main event,” Andrés promised, sincerely. He leaned forward, his elbow on the edge of the table as his fingers curled to hold his chin. His eyes were wide and alert, but he graciously stayed quiet.

The way he said those words made a small tear prick at the corner of his eye. He’d been fighting the idea all evening, not wanting to give into the fantasy of being more than the opening act. Andrés' sincerity warmed him, fueled his ambition with his support and his ability to influence the right steps to make those things happen. Even without the promise of an illustrious career hanging in the balance, he’d continue to give his music everything he had just to continue to be in the presence of Andrés’ optimism. He drew from the other man’s passions, just as much as his own. “I’ll anticipate a bigger bouquet when it’s my tour,” he chuckled, whipping the tear away.

“I’ll fill your dressing room with them,” Andrés promised, motioning for the waiter to return to the table to take their orders before Martín had a chance to answer. His attention focused on their younger waiter, handing his menu over to clear the table after he’d place his order.

He gestured to Martín, signaling for him to take his turn. He grinned, lips thin as he pointed to the few things on the menu that had caught his eye. As he handed over his own menu, he finished the order with, “and I’ll take the chocolate cake to be brought out first.”

“Even my niece knows dinner comes before dessert,” Andrés scolded, jokingly.

“Andrés, you ought to prioritize enjoying the sweeter things in life before the finer ones all the time,” he replied, lifting his wine glass.  
  
As requested, his small cut of cake was brought to the table only a few minutes later. The moist layers of chocolate cake were divided between lines of ganache, and covered by a layer of lavender buttercream and dark chocolate shavings. When placed in front of him, Martín picked up his smaller dessert spoon, wasting no time diving into his food. He’d failed to notice just how hungry he’d become since they’d arrived, and let out a louder contented moan than necessary as the delicious floral note mixed with the bitterness of the chocolate danced on his tongue.

“I think this is the happiest I’ve seen you all night,” Andrés said, a bit more sour than he’d probably intended. In return, Martín simply moved the dessert plate to sit between them, reaching across the table to pick up Andrés’ dessert spoon.

“It is good cake,” he said, sinking his spoon through the layers once again. “Since you’re paying, I suppose we could share.”

“How generous of you.” He took his dessert spoon out of Martín’s hand all the same, taking a piece out of the back corner facing him. His first bite was hardly more than Martín would consider a crumb, but the way his eyes fluttered down at the taste spoke enough of how much he enjoyed the sample.

“I told you so,” Martín replied smugly, moving to pull the plate away, only to find Andrés pulling from the other side.

“You don’t get to take away your offer now, Martín. That reflects poorly on your manners.”

“You could just order your own,” he suggested, still not letting go until Andrés sunk his spoon in their shared piece once again.

“Yours would still taste better,” he assured.

It didn’t take long for the rest of their dinner to arrive, edible arrangements elegantly designed but miniature portions. As they started to eat, he thought of some of the places he would need to take Andrés once they were back in Spain, which were arguably just as good, but came with far more food for a quarter of the price. The idea should have felt completely out of the picture, but in that moment it seemed the clearer route for the events of their evening to lead down.

With the table cleared accordingly after they’d signaled the end of their meal, the only thing left sitting between him and Andrés was his small bouquet of flowers. They clashed with some of the other decor of the restaurant, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. His fingers reached out to the stroke one of the red petals, smiling at the soft touch under the pad of his thumb. Something about these flowers in particular spoke out to him. He’d already picked up on Andrés’ extensive knowledge about every artistic subject that ever crossed his path, and the question danced on the tip of his tongue to know what these flowers meant. He considered the fact he might want to know, a small fear residing inside of his chest that the answer might put a damper on the evening. His eyes shifted to the blue ones, before glancing at Andrés. The more time they spent in each other’s company, the more relaxed his features. When they’d first had time just the two of them on the way to the showcase, he’d been closed off and focused on his phone. They’d gone their separate ways and taken charge of their responsibilities. But as time continued, their proximity to each other had only grown closer. He loathed how easy it was to blush under the weight of Andrés’ eyes on him, but the light chuckle escaping Andrés’ lips was worth the price of his embarrassment every single time. He imagined Andrés would only be further flattered by his reactions if he knew they were always just for him.  
  
He pulled his hands away from the petals, moving both under the table to run over his legs nervously. Still, he smiled, sitting just a little taller. If he had anything to do with Andrés’ improved mood, he would gladly continue to do whatever he could to make the other man happier. He seemed so much better off than he had been just a few days ago back in Madrid, and the way he radiated again stemmed from more than just the bronze tan gracing his skin.  
  
“Why did you leave your holiday?” He asked finally, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. The question was bordering on being too invasive, but he hoped his tone made up for it. His right hand, still gripping his knee tightly, released as Andrés’ soft smile did not fleet at the question. Instead, he seemed to be weighing his own words carefully, as though anything he might say might trigger an unforeseen reaction. His fingers twitched, bumping against the bottom of the table as he fought his urge to reach out and take Andrés’ hand in his.  
  
“Unlike most, the company of my family is a privilege, rather than a burden. It had been too long since we’d been away from the confines of the office and Madrid,” he started, each word coming out slowly and carefully selected. His top tooth sunk into his bottom lip, hand stretching out to rest on Martín’s side of the table. Instead of withdrawing, he simply squeezed his fingers into his palm, nervously. Still, Martín admired the way Andrés’ never looked away from him, keeping his brown eyes locked on him as if he wanted to take in his full reaction to whatever he had to say.  
  
“But,” he continued after a moment, with what could have easily been a trick of the light with the ways his eyes seemed to sparkle, “something was missing, and I couldn’t keep away from it anymore.”

The hints at the answer weren’t quite enough for him. He considered the possibility of dampening their evening if he tried to press Andrés too hard or too fast for something more concrete to hold onto, but his own selfish needs wanted to hear the words more than anything. He didn’t want to send them back to their separate corners for the evening, only to avoid each other until they were eventually forced to run into the other at some work event. His patience was far from running thin if there was nothing Andrés was willing to give him to solidify the attachment holding them together, regardless of how nice it would be to hear.

“I’d rather be in Berlin, than back on the island.”  
  
His chest swelled, and his hand moved back onto the table. The curve around his smaller finger lightly grazed Andrés’, even the small contact enough for the rush of warmth to come flooding back to him. Instead of prying further, he decided on another tactic. “I’ve never been to an island like that,”

“We might have to arrange time off for you then. Sicily is perfect in autumn,” he suggested.  
  
“I’ll consider your offer.” He smiled coyly.

“Now I have a question for you,” Andrés said, a small smirk spreading across his face as he took control of the direction of their conversation. He lifted his wine glass to his lips, eyes looking away from Martín for the first time since they’d reunited backstage under the ugly yellow lights. Now, he simply looked unsure of himself, and there was something endearing about it for Martín. It was a weird, but wonderful, sensation settling him in the way Andrés just looked enough unnerved to be obvious to probably only him. “Where do you get all of your inspiration?”

He chased the question down with a small drink of his red wine, and set the glass back down on the table. With the buzz of the wine probably still tickling the back of his throat, Andrés looked radiant and confident once again. Martín, on the other hand, could feel his heart beating in his head, drowning out just about everything else around him, apart from the way Andrés’ hand reached out and wrapped around the back of his.

He sat up taller, shoulders square as he leaned back in the chair. He rotated his hand as he considered his answer, allowing him to hold Andrés’ in return. He winked, “A good musician never tells.”  
  
Andrés’ fingers rotated gradually until they fell into the space between Martín’s. He gave his hand a gentle squeeze, resuming his almost habitual pattern of stroking the soft skin on the back of Martín’s hand. “Not even a hint?” He asked, lazily. But there was a shift of vulnerability in his words, and Andrés’ sudden willingness to take a hit to his pride to try and drag something more concrete out of Martín was endearing. In his eyes, Martín saw a reflection of the way he’d felt only moments ago when he needed to hear more definitive words to know he wasn’t making this all up in his head. Perhaps, he considered, they both simply needed something stronger to hold on to if they were going to continue their progress.

“Someone astonishingly unique,” he answered again, more honestly this time. The answer appeased Andrés enough to pause any further questions. He wasn’t ready for the conversation to come to an end or to be sent back to his hotel. He tapped his chin as he tried to think of a new topic, smiling fondly as the memory came back to him. “I never had the chance to tell you how much I enjoyed listening to you sing,” Martín complimented.  
  
“I already said I would cover the bill, the flattery really isn’t necessary.” Andrés unintentional flat tone made Martín recoil as he recognized he’d just struck a nerve. Andrés’ hand loosened around Martín’s, but he held tighter, unwilling to let go. This time, he took a turn to stroke the back of Andrés’ hand with his thumb similarly to the way he’d grown accustomed to trying to make silent amends. It was enough to make Andrés quit trying to let go but with his head turned to the side, he was still closed off again.  
  
“I wouldn’t lie to you, Andrés,” he promised, his words filled with understanding. Andrés nodded once, as he let out a low sigh. Martín expected nothing to come of it, as he still refused to look at him again. While not the best ending to their evening, he considered it might be time to give the other man the distance he seemed in need of then. An apology might have been in order but without knowing the gravity of the offense he couldn’t be certain.

Andrés turned his head to look at him, squinting his eyebrows as he lowered his eyebrows. His head leaned closer to Martín as he sighed again. “I haven’t talked to anyone about this for a long time. I’d prefer not to do it here.”  
  
“I’m willing to listen somewhere more private,” he assured. Andrés nodded, slowly releasing Martín’s hand as he gestured for the check to be brought to the table.

The same uneasy emptiness settled over him without Andrés’ hand in his, though the way Andrés read him was coded in a more intimate level of trust. Each turn of the evening was more unexpected than the last, and emotional vulnerability was the last thing he would have considered. He’d allowed himself to open up around Andrés back at the university and was given very little in return. Now, the other man deemed him worthy of whatever secret was bogging him down. He followed him out of the restaurant, making the journey back to Andrés’ hotel room.  
  
Normally, whenever he went anywhere new with Andrés, he was initially blown away by the beauty of the different luxuries he found himself surrounded by. The extraordinary hotel suite should have been no different, the immaculate room partitioned into two by double wooden doors. The classically-inspired lamps and black and white photographs on the wall added an antiqued sense, while the bold colors of the pattern textiles added a contemporary grace to the room. Still, none of that mattered as Andrés slumped forward. Everything around them dimmed when Andrés did, and he moved to sit on the opposite end of the sofa from him.  
  
“I always wanted to perform in front of a crowd,” he began, looking at his hands rather than at Martín. “Sergio’s father taught us some things about music, but only as a means of distraction. We didn’t have much then and our money always went towards Sergio’s treatments.”  
  
“Was he sick a lot as a kid?”  
  
“We both had asthma from a young age. My mother had multiple lung problems, it was only a matter of which ones we’d win from genetics. His were worse growing up, mine got worse with age.”  
  
“And you aspired to be a performer back then?”  
  
“It was a stupid ambition for such a young, immature kid. I had my condition against me before the demands ever started.” His bitter words stung Martín’s skin, making him shiver. It would do him no good to offer Andrés his pity, but he was slowly beginning to connect the dots without being told. So many little things affected whether or not a performer should even envision a world where they could pursue music as more than a passion project. Alone, only having asthma shouldn’t have been enough to keep him chasing down whatever he wanted. But, shortness of breath was already common when trying to overcome the nerves of stage fright. It was hard to picture Andrés so unconfident he could be ripped away from something he wanted, but unprompted asthma attacks would make it impossible to predict when he would need to be taken off stage and treated.  
  
“Why didn’t you try again later?” He questioned.  
  
“I didn’t fit the mold they could market anymore,” he shrugged. “I had to make a decision about my future, and I chose to become competitive instead. I worked for years to build my label from nothing, and I slowed for nothing. Even when I probably should have.”  
  
He knew not to pry, but didn’t want to discourage Andrés to bring their conversation to a sudden end. He moved closer, reaching out to wrap his fingers around Andrés’ wrist. He traced a circle below the base of Andrés’ thumb as he asked, “What do you mean?”  
  
“My three ex-wives were less understanding of why the label meant everything to me. I loved them, but I was not always the most dutiful husband,” he paused, wary as he let out a small tremble.

Martín simply continued tracing the pattern, giving him enough distance not to suffocate but still doing everything he was capable of to try and provide comfort. He picked up again, unhurried. “The lean years became months on the road trying to promote artists and find investors, cycles of late nights in the office, doing everything possible until we finally made it as far as we did. My latest wife felt the most neglected, I think. When we’d met, the business had already taken off, but I refused to step away whenever she demanded. She didn’t understand why the label is important to me. It was never going to work, and things only got worse.”

“It’s your life’s work,” Martín repeated. “It deserves just as much care as any of your other relationships.” Andrés’ trembling stopped as he finished speaking, and he pulled his hand back into his lap.  
  
“Very few things are of actual importance to me, and the label will always be at the top of the list. I’m unwilling to sacrifice it for anything.”

There was a warning in his words, but Martín didn’t need it. He recognized a similar fire in Andrés when he was in his element at the studio, one he had when he was playing his music. He understood the importance of holding onto dreams cultivated in childhood, tied into things that had been lost far too soon. “You’re allowed to have your ambitions, Andrés. Just because some _pendeja_ left you, doesn’t mean you need to change.”  
  
“Well, now that there has been a damper put on our evening, might I suggest a nightcap?” Without waiting for an answer, Andrés rose from the sofa, walking over to one of the cabinets in the room to pull out the provided bottle of brandy. He kept his back to Martín, pouring the two tumblers with a modest amount each. He handed the glass to him, before turning to head to one of the smaller grey seats in the room. Martín immediately set his drink down on the cushion next to him, his hands moving to cusp Andrés’ to keep him from leaving. He’d been mindful of his code of honor throughout the night, but now was not the time to allow the same courtesy. Andrés needed to understand there were people beyond just his brother who would be willing to stand by his side, and allow him to express his flaws. He _wanted _to tell him just how much he understood the need to put more zeal into a career than a relationship, but the right words didn’t come.  
  
Instead, Andrés fell back onto the sofa, sitting closer to him again. It would be enough for now, the promise of other nights to speak on the topic hanging in the future. The silence between them was serene, the late hour and the events of the night finally wearing them both thin. As they finished their drinks, Andrés mumbled sleepily, his head nodding forward before he jerked it back. He sunk further against the sofa, trying to keep upright. “Did you ever think about a stage name?” He asked, eyelids drooping lazily. Martín considered suggesting he moved to the bed, while he called a cab, but he didn’t have any desire to leave. With his suit jacket off, he was already comfortable enough to spend the evening on the sofa. He would gamble Andrés did not feel the same way about his, though Martín wondered if he would ever even see the same look again.  
  
“No,” he shook his head, his own eyes weighted with his need for sleep. For all he knew, the sun would start breaking through the open window any minute, reflecting how they’d gotten lost in conversation and talked the night away.  
  
“I did. I _kept_ mine,” he snickered, strangely truthful as his reservations slipped away with a yawn. “Andrés Perez was too common, not _unique_,” he said, hanging out to the repetition of the word Martín had used earlier.  
  
Martín chuckled in the dark, covering his mouth with the back of his hand as the laugh was stifled by his own yawn. “So you selected the most pompous option you could think of?”  
  
His answer was lagged by exhaustion, and Martín opened his mouth to finally suggest it was best to go to sleep when he was interrupted. “_Intimidante,_” he mumbled again, his thumb coming up to rub the corner of his eye.

“Yes, you strike fear into the hearts of all--”

Andrés’ head rolled forward onto Martín’s shoulder, his body slumping so most of his weight was supported by Martín’s arm and the left side of his chest. He hadn’t noticed when they’d gotten this close, enough that Andrés’ body giving in unwillingly to sleep would close the small remaining distance between them. He knew better than to try and move, the other man not yet gone enough in his slumber. Any quick movement would wake him up with a startle, and Martín enjoyed having him so tenderly in his arms. Instead, he gently turned his head just enough to place a chaste kiss against the curve of Andrés’ forehead. “It’s you,” he mumbled, his own eyes closing as he rested his head against Andrés’. He placed another small kiss against his skin, his arm moving to make them both more comfortable. His eyes glanced briefly at the large bed, but he selfishly did not have the heart to move away from the way Andrés’ hand curled unknowingly in his shirt. His own exhaustion started to settle in, as he slumped against the arm of the sofa, hand intertwining with one of Andrés’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd had this idea planned out since the beginning of the fic, but I almost cut it from my drafts until I saw @jaiarts (Ao3)/@agapias_(twitter) create a beautiful piece where Andrés fell asleep on Martín's shoulder, and I knew I had to keep it. 
> 
> Also, a special thanks to @cacilie_blaas for the assistance on making sure this chapter was perfect. She also commissioned a beautiful piece of art from the wonderful Nia (@lcdesteban) you should all go and check out. It is pinned on my twitter profile, but make sure you go give the artist some love.


	19. The Wurlitzer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amount of research I put into this chapter for the last week is probably more than I've ever done for any of my classes in university. Hopefully, you all feel obliged to leave nice comments to feed my soul. Pretty please.
> 
> But really...the amount of self-indulgence in this chapter....someone had to give them soft content

He squinted his eyes as the mid-morning sun poked through the window of his hotel room, far too bright for his liking. Normally, he was much better about making sure the block-out curtains were drawn before falling asleep, an indicator his jet lag had gotten the better of him, breaking his usual evening routines. The second indicator he had passed out, rather than gradually fallen asleep, was the material of his suit jacket rubbing against his arm. Thankfully, the linen was far more comfortable than some of the other materials he possessed, but there was no doubt it would be crinkled enough to border on being ruined. None of those things mattered nearly as much, not as he became aware of the harder surface underneath his head. The crick in his neck was the result of sleeping somewhere other than the feather soft memory foam mattress of his hotel bed, or even the cushion of the plush sofa under his head. The beating of his heart quickened as he slowly opened one eye lid. Even through blurred vision, he could see the first grey button only a few inches from where he currently rested his head.  
  
With his senses quickly returning to him upon the revelation, he felt the gentle weight of an arm securing him tightly in place, Martín’s other hand still surprisingly intertwined with his. He’d spent other nights wrapped around his ex-wives, and in the morning always woke to find they’d untangled from the little embraces. Now, Martín’s head rolled to the side, thick lips pressed against the top of Andrés’ head, as his chest continued to expand and deflate with each snore he released. The noises should annoy him enough to wake up the other man, or at the very least give him enough of a reason to try and quietly pull away without disrupting him. Instead, he found himself listening to the endearing sounds, eyes tracing the curve of Martín’s strong jaw as he watched him in his deep slumber. Petty jealousy rose in his chest as none of his movements disturbed Martín. He had never been one capable of sleeping past a certain hour, let alone with the sun bleeding on his face.  
  
Andrés moved his head, rising slightly off of Martín’s chest and watched as his head rolled towards the arm of the sofa in response, the right side of his face resting on his opposite shoulder. His heart swelled as he admired the man, thick eyelashes looking fuller than normal with his eyes closed. His lips were parted, just a few centimetres apart, and the hand still flat against Martín’s chest itched to reach out and stroke them gently. There were light shadows dancing across Martín’s features now, a combination of Andrés’ position and the curve of the sofa blocking him from being in the direct line of the sun. If he could break away from Martín without disturbing him, he might make his way over to his suitcase and pull out his drawing pad from where it was tucked inside of one of the sleeves. He still couldn’t be certain larger movements would wake him up, and even without his concern for Martín, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away from the affectionate embrace.  
  
Slowly, he moved his hand away to rub the sleep out of his eyes, shuddering as the little voices of doubt crept up inside of his head. He knew they held a certain truth in them, and he should not be so enamored this easily. After all, how often had Sergio scolded him for bringing home girlfriends and swearing each one would fit his almost Utopian ideals surrounding love? Each one offered whispers of something new and exciting, each one unique and promising. His heart constricted in his chest, breathing heavier as the thoughts continued to swirl. They whipped up his nerves, anxious and ready to make for the front door.   
  
Until he shook his head, trying to knock out the traitorous reminders. _None _ of them were anything quite like the man sleeping underneath him.  
  
This spurred another unwarranted speculation. He accepted his attraction to those of the same sex years ago; he had even gone so far as to have casual evenings or the occasional stress relief afternoon when he wanted to. He’d moved past this years ago, starting in his years of higher education, and had come to a comfortable peace with that part of himself. But, he’d never been the same type of emotionally intimate with a man as he would his female partners. None ever grew to even be comparable to the brotherly relationship he shared with Sergio. His intentions had never been to let Martín see so much of him. Yes, the _ attraction _was undeniable from the first time his brother brought him into the studio to meet with them. If anything, though, his interests were only small thoughts throughout his day, stemming from a desire to get under Sergio’s skin after being scolded to watch his behavior. He was willing to allow his brother his request, until he’d found himself far too captivated to turn back. Martín had simply made it too easy for him to want to get attached, and he wasn’t sure he could raise his defenses again if he tried.   
  
Inhaling sharply, he forced the thoughts away from him. Martín was still too dead asleep to know he was awake, and no one was here to judge anything he did. He chuckled as his hand finally reached out to brush away a stray lock of hair on Martín’s forehead, fingers curling around loose pieces of hair. Even if he had wanted to pull away, it should have been done before he’d left the Seychelles for _him_. Though he could not freely communicate the fact to Martín the way he desperately wished he was able to, he was more than ready to admit the truth to himself. It was unavoidable after the way Martín had been mindful of his words and actions at dinner. Little snips of their conversation were coming back to him as his mind continued to wake up, though most were still clouded by the distraction. He had tried to test him, clinging to one final delusion there was anything less than charming about this man. He’d been around people long enough to know if things seemed too good to be true, they often were. But, it was never that way with Martín.  
  
He slowly dipped his head again, placing a ghost of a kiss against the corner of Martín’s jaw. The overwhelming need to always find new minuscule ways to touch him had been growing since they’d danced. Finally though, he managed to find the will to slip out of Martín’s arms. He moved gracefully, mindful of Martín’s right to sleep as long as he needed. He knew the evening’s events were to blame for tuckering him out, and though he wished he could look at those piercing blue eyes, he knew not to be selfish right then. Instead, he made his way to his suitcase and pulled on the zipper making sure it didn’t make a louder sound than it needed to. He searched through his clothes for a few things to change into, grabbing his phone charger while he was at it. He made his way into the bathroom, closing the door with both hands as he stole one last look at Martín.  
  
Steam quickly fogged the mirror in the bathroom, the stream of hot water calling to him as he plugged his phone into one of the outlets just outside the door by the vanity table. It buzzed as it recognized the power source, screen powering on as it began to charge once more. For all he cared, the battery could have stayed dead. But, he knew he ought to check on their flight schedule back to Madrid, as well as any missed messages from Sergio. His family would be enjoying their last day in paradise before departing later that night. He knew they probably wanted to leave the island about as much as he wanted to leave Berlin. If duty didn’t call, they might be allowed to stay frozen in time where they were now. Still, that was a worry for after he allowed himself the comfort of a warm shower.  
  
There was something exceptionally beautiful in the way he’d captivated Martín after he arrived at their table. It felt a fair trade for the way he always found himself lost in his beautifully written lyrics. Now, he had new assumptions the songs were written specifically for him. He ran his hands over his face as the warm water gently pelted his skin, and he couldn’t fight the grin spreading over his face against his palms. They were still removed from any definitions of their relationship, but he felt the pride swelling in his chest and he considered the adoration Martín must hold for him to be even a fraction of his muses. Plenty of people were captivated by his looks, others drawn in by his wit, and the occasional few lost to his natural charms. He’d never expected anyone to really dig under all his facades and go beyond the way Martín wanted to. He’d pulled Andrés back into their conversation when he tried to rip away from revealing any of the chipped pieces of himself, and somehow, Andrés didn’t want to sprint far from the room after waking up in his arms.  
  
If Martín were anyone else, their evening would have gone entirely different. Because Martín was a _ man _ , their night should have been different. He had only ever fallen asleep with a man once, and they kept to their separate ends of the bed. The morning after was simply a continuation of the night’s events, until all too soon he was on his own once more. He would not do that to Martín, and selfishly could only think of slipping back between his arms once he’d finished his shower. He lathered his hair with soap, instinct trying to break his shaky, new resolve. He’d never allowed himself to consider just how much his heart ached for this particular type of intimacy. But those sparkling blue eyes, wide grin, and strong arms left him craving for simpler things, even at the expense of tearing down his pretenses.  
  
He’d chosen a simple, white high collar, linen grey tie, and a dark pair of pants for the day: a little less than suitable to wear through the airport, but it would have to be good enough. He grabbed his phone, smiling as Sergio’s contact ID lit up his screen. His brother, Raquel, and Paula filled the photo frame, with the beautiful turquoise water set behind them. The ocean behind them was drowned out by the way Raquel held her left hand up into the frame. _ Finally. _ The beautiful sapphire stone set in a silver band looked as though it were handcrafted for her. His mother’s engagement ring was one of the few things they still had left from her, but as it was from Sergio’s father he had never wanted to lay any claim to it. The ring belonged to the woman who captivated his younger brother, completing a missing part in Sergio’s life he had never accepted he was missing out until she arrived. He could see the overwhelming joy reflected in their eyes, even in a photograph. He quickly typed out his congratulatory message, knowing proper celebrations would be in order when they were back in Spain. Setting his phone back down again, he felt a small amount of jealousy setting in as he considered the way he already knew everything would always work out for Sergio and Raquel. All his life and all his attempts at marriage failed, leaving him wanting for something built to last.  
  
“Andrés, good morning,” Martín’s cheery voice called out from the other room. His face relaxed, a small smile on his face as he rounded the corner. On the small table in front of Martín, who was now sitting reclined against the sofa, were two floral Ottoman trays, dark blue dishes covered by metal.  
  
“I see you wasted no time in ordering breakfast,” he teased, sitting down on the middle cushion. “Do you think you ordered enough, or are you expecting company?”  
  
Martín rolled his eyes, tapping his index finger against the back of Andrés’ hand. “I’ll have you know, I ordered this one for you. But if you’re going to be rude I have no problem enjoying both of them.”  
  
Andrés reached out, pulling back the covering to reveal what Martín had ordered on his behalf. It came as no surprise as he glanced down to the thin, golden brown folded lines, covered in a light dusting of powdered sugar. Unlike Martín’s which were slathered only by preserved strawberries, his were accompanied by a light line of dark brown. Graciously, he picked up the tray to move his food closer to his body to avoid any unpleasant stains from the chocolate-hazelnut spread. “Are you still trying to rot my teeth?” He asked, as he picked up his fork and knife, cutting into his food.  
  
Martín grinned, and he found himself far from capable of maintaining even his faux anger with him. “Chocolate is good for you, Andrés. I think it helps loosen you up.”  
  
Martín’s smile was contagious and despite the ridiculousness of his statement, he found he couldn’t help but return it with one of his own. “How did you sleep?” He questioned, fingers wrapping around the handle of his ceramic coffee mug. He found himself glancing down at the dark liquid, unable to face the answer Martín would give him. For all the other man knew, Andrés could have moved at any time during the night. The angle they were currently sitting at didn’t give them a good enough view of the perfectly done up bed. He wondered briefly if he had not fallen asleep first, if Martín might have wanted him to move.  
  
“One of my best nights of sleep in a while,” he replied, cheeks flushed. He chewed slowly on another bite of food, revealing just how uncertain he was about continuing their current conversation. He placed his fork down for a moment, waiting until he’d finished his food before speaking again. “I should probably get a ride back to my hotel and clean up before we need to leave for the airport. Are you on the same flight?”  
  
Andrés nodded, turning his head just enough to glance out the window. From where they sat, he could see the seemingly miniature emerald green Quadriga on top the Brandenburg gate, several other buildings dotting the Berlin skyline. The world outside his window looked peaceful, warm rays of summer sun inviting. Here, he was free from the pressures of the record label. He would not feel the immediate pull of the office reaching out for him as soon as his feet touched Spanish soil, or the list of things he already knew would need to be done. Here, he was free to waste away a day entertaining Martín, doing whatever they could come up with. A faint idea came to mind then, something he knew about but never had the time to see on his few business trips to the German capital. It would be the perfect use of a day he’d intended to be lazing away on a lounge chair before being whisked away to a different airport.  
  
“There’s actually something I’ve been meaning to see in Berlin. I could arrange for our flights to leave tomorrow, if you have nothing to rush home to,” he countered, turning his head to meet Martín’s eye.  
  
“What did you have in mind?”  
  
As the car came to a stop outside the steps of the museum, the jagged accents of the roof momentarily grabbed his attention. The vertical beige slates of the exterior were broken up by a variety of shapes, defining circular white windows along the top level contrasting with the darker rhombus windows on entrance level. A few smaller, square windows were placed a short distance away from the rest, no doubt carefully designed to allow natural light flow in only where it would not threaten the contents inside. The elegant design intended to draw in passerby without giving too much away about the treasures kept inside. Under the large, metal canopy above the entryway doors, he spotted the black blocks revealing its name. As they stepped outside the car, his eyes fell to Martín’s bright-eyed expression accompanied by a grin from ear to ear. The translation from German had been easily made, and compromising worry about the suggestion to spend their day here dissipated as they made their way to the triple sets of glass doors.  
  
Thankfully, the line for the ticket counter was short despite the late hour of the morning. If he had planned this better they would have been first to arrive when the doors opened, but he’d still had an amazing start to his day. Martín twisted his head to get a few of the exhibits a short distance away, bouncing lightly from toe to toe, made Andrés bow his head, gradually becoming ecstatic at the reaction. He fed off the passionate way Martín seemed unable to concentrate, allowing him too to extend beyond his normal level of control. This museum offered him to explore his passions in music and to step away from the business side of things. He met Martín’s lopsided smile with one of his own, stepping forward as they were called to purchase their tickets.  
  
As they stepped to the window, the small flyer presented prominently to the side caught his eye. He felt Martín tapping his shoulder as he pointed at it. “Incredible luck to be here on the same day as the _ Wurlizter _ demonstration.” His awestruck whispered matching his genuine excitement Andrés felt as he whisked his wallet out of his pocket.  
  
“Two tickets for the museum and the demonstration,” he requested, moving to take his card out of the sleeve only to be stopped by Martín’s hand.  
  
“You can’t keep paying for everything. You already covered dinner last night,” he argued, holding up his own card.  
  
“I invited you to dinner and forced you to come along with me today. Put your card away,” he instructed, passing his own over to the awaiting hand of the ticket-booth clerk.  
  
“You didn’t force me into anything. I really want to be here.” He heard Martín say, and he might have allowed himself a sunny grin if not for their audience. The doe-eyed young girl smiled as she looked back and forth between them, handing back the card accompanied by four tickets and the informational pamphlet about downloading more information about the vast collections. He hastily picked them up suddenly uncomfortable under the weight of her gaze, quickening his pace as he exited the queue.  
  
The familiar tapping on the back of his hand made him pause as he turned to look at Martín, who considerately looked to one of the signs offering directions to exhibits rather than directly at him. “I don’t even know where to begin.”  
  
“We have three hours until the demonstration. We won’t have enough time to see everything,” he replied, pulling his phone from his pocket. “I know what would make you happiest to see, I just need to see where they are located.”  
  
As the electronic map suggested, the major highlights were spread across the different floors, separated by the grand spiral staircase off to the corner of the room. He mapped a route out in his head to make the best of their limited time, noting a few items he found of greatest interest while mainly focusing on the ones he thought Martín would appreciate the most. By building from the main floor up, with good timing they would arrive with enough time to pick a good spot on the balcony before the demonstration began. While it might have been just as enjoyable to watch from the other floor and offered a better view of the organist, the entire experience would be diminished without being fully surrounded by the melodious tunes. The robotic sounds of one of the nearby interactive displays made him look up from his phone to see Martín standing in front of the flashing lights. The DATO DUO sloped into a triangle, allowing an interactive experience designed to be shared. Each side had different switches or neon flashing colored buttons, allowing the synthesizer to create unique audio signals based on which order buttons were pressed.  
  
It wasn’t the way he’d intended to start their visit, but Martín was enthralled by the newage version of the device. He came around on the other side, his hand knocking against Martín’s as he moved the wave feature to change the way the music was being produced. While designed for children, the equipment was crafted to give immediate responses and drawn just about anyone into it. Apart from building a sandcastle with Paula on the beach, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d done anything for the pure fun of it. Looking up at Martín’s face illuminated by the brightness of the lights, he reached across to press on some of the more interesting options only to have his hand playfully swatted away.  
  
“That’s your side,” Martín pointed out, a humorous smirk on his face as Andrés kept trying to fight his way to one of the blue, circular buttons.  
  
“Why do you get the better one? I _ paid _ ,” he reminded him. He thought he saw Martín’s tongue poking out at him and wouldn’t find it surprising if he had retorted to something so childish. All the same, Martín’s hand grabbed his and placed it on one of the buttons, shaking his finger before pointing to the rest. “You can have this one.”  
  


Together, they worked to length and glide the different notes of the arrangement they created. The ease of creating beautiful music should have annoyed him as it was a longer, more painstaking process back at the office. He’d been out of practice doing it predominantly but the basics were all the same. Yet, since this wasn’t the part of the job Martín was in charge of, he found himself lost in appreciating the experience for what it really was.  
  
Martín’s hand wrapped around his waist, pulling him away from the machine where a few other museum visitors had been awaiting their turns. He gave them a mock bow, snickering to himself as he stepped away dragging Andrés with him. The thought of investing in one for the office floated around, knowing it would be worth the expense if it meant he could see the goofy look on Martín’s face again.  
  
He pulled his hand away to look at the simple leather watch around his wrist, eyes wide as he recognized they’d blissfully wasted away twenty minutes. If they were ever going to get back on track of the _ must-see _items list he’d crafted, they would have to increase their speed and miss out on little detours to see other things. He wasn’t fond of such time restraints wanting to devote their time in the museum to the parts most appealing to Martín, even if it meant letting go of time spent looking at the treasured collection of harpsichords. 

  
“I’d never done that before,” Martín said as he followed him towards one of the planned stops on their tour. “Synthesizers usually seem much more complicated.”  
  
“Well, that one was _ made _ for children. It was the result of a child playing on their parent’s equipment until they landed on a menu and couldn’t produce noise anymore,” he responded, shrugging his shoulders.  
  
“If you’re implying I’m a child, then I should worsen my behavior. You might also want to mention you overpaid for my ticket.”  
  
A silent laugh caught in his throat, his hand moving to cup his mouth to keep from causing a spectacle in the museum. With anyone else, he would have turned around with narrowed eyes as artificial shadows darkened his features, threatening them silently to keep their mouths shut. His unfamiliar ease around Martín kept their afternoon light, wanting more of whatever jokes the other man could come up with. When he glanced to his right side, he found Martín no longer walking next to him, turning to see where he had been left behind this time. The mesmerized look in Martín’s eyes distracted him over the glass case he had left Andrés’ side to gawk at. As he reached him again, his hand came to rest on the small of his back, and he unwittingly pouted as the gesture still did not break his concentration.  
  
The simplicity of the black Carolan guitar had microscopic, carved golden leafs outlining the rim. The next had a twirling pattern in the same color, breaking the design into four sections and a line trailing in the center, with what appeared to be bees breaking off towards the sides. The center design was more intricate and seemed to be what captivated Martín’s interests most. A guitar overlaid part of a slim torch, a harp extending from the top right to the bottom left, the details encased by a golden oval.  
  
He knew the more minimal the details increased the price of the guitar, but he couldn’t imagine that was something Martín knew. He seemed enamored with it all the same, walking around the case to get a view of the entire guitar. “ _ Re lindo _ .” Martín’s faint words made him take a moment to appreciate the guitar more, and perhaps there was something in the delicate carvings worth giving his consideration to.  
  
“Modern acoustic guitars have mostly adopted minimalistic aesthetics, it’s rather unfortunate when you look at some of these.” He gestured to a few of the other cases, grabbing Martín’s attention again as he started towards one of the displays further into the large collection of string instruments. They briefly took time to stop and admire a few of the pieces along the way, trying to take in more than they would ever be able to recall. The collection stemmed from across the globe, across time, and if he had years of his life to devote to the beautiful instruments he might consent to spending the rest of his days doing so. His commitment to the idea only strengthened when every so often that sweet smile and charming blue eyes seemed to be focused on him more than the array of guitars.   
  
One smaller wooden mandolin was off to the side with a traditional theorbo to the right. Both were overshadowed by the centerpiece, a theorbo with uncommon proportions. The neck of this theorbo would probably match the length of his leg if removed from the case, contrasted by the significantly smaller tortoise shell body. This time as Martín’s face lit up, he turned to Andrés already anticipating an explanation. If his own excitement wasn’t already hard to contain, Martín’s willingness to listen to what he had to say only increased it.  
  
“Normally, the body isn’t this small.” He lowered to eye level with the baroque designs. Against the shine of the darker paint, the rich yellow swirls popped out. For being the smallest part of the theorbo, it commanded the most focus. The black neck and silver strings were beautiful in their own right, but the replica hieroglyphics told a story as easily as the ones painted in Ancient Egypt. “It’s probably only seventy years old, maybe less,” he guessed.  
  
“Have you ever played anything like that?”  
  
“Not quite. Lutes are similar and I tried once to play one of those. I didn’t have the patience for it.”  
  
Martín’s chuckle tickled his ears, tempting him to push the other man over from his own crouch. Raquel would all too happily elaborate on the story, and between the two of them he would never hear the end of his spectacular failure. The last thing he wanted was for more information to get out to be used against him, even if it only would be used in jest. Instead, he pointed to one of the designs in particular, tapping Martín’s knee as he turned him to look at it. “I think this one is my favorite. The exterior ones are all mirrored, but this one in the center is made to stand out.”  
  
“I can see why you’d like that,” Martín teased.  
  
Andrés raised his eyebrow, wrinkling the skin above his nose as he contemplated what his words meant. The same flutter of his heart he’d had at dinner gave him too much hope for things that shouldn’t be meant for him. “Oh, and why is that _ cariño _ ?” He asked, smug as the pet name made Martín’s cheeks flush.  
  
“No reason,” he replied as he rose to his full height, extending his hand to help him. The gesture was simple, but considerate in a way he wasn’t used to. Andrés took his hand, eyes locked on the upturned curve of Martín’s lips. There were thousands of things he could have been looking at in that moment, especially with throngs of people around to see them and make their assumptions, but the pale pink of his mouth seemed a worthy distraction. 

“I’ve given you plenty of explanations today, don’t you think it’s your turn?”  
  
“I’d love to tell you about one of these instruments instead, if you give me the opportunity.”

  
Before he could voice another complaint over the lack of a precise answer, Martín was already walking away towards the piano section of the museum in the center of the room. They were hardly following any flow now, but the idea of following a rigid schedule had been lost some time ago. He saw a hand waving him over to one of the pianos, but found himself lost to different realizations. He’d been sincere in wanting to celebrate Martín’s successes at dinner but he knew there were alternative motives behind his actions as well. When his hands wrapped on Martín’s shoulders as he stood behind him at the table, he’d wanted to test what kind of reaction he’d be met with in response. Even the delight he felt then paled in comparison to his elation now. Moving between the array of instruments for the last hour and a half with Martín was a privilege, and if he allowed himself to be honest, it was one of the greatest the job had ever allowed him. He rubbed the flat part of his thumb against the top of his palm, cursing himself for lacking the bravery required to communicate things that left his defenses flimsy.  
  
Andrés wanted to stomp out of the building irritated at himself as taunting whispers of _‘he is just humoring you, who would ever tell their new boss no’ _blocked out everything else around. He felt his eyebrows lowering moderately as his thumb moved to scratch at the callous on his middle finger. Somewhere along their stroll in the museum, he recognized how terribly he wanted this to be a _date_. Away from the strains of their professional relationship, he recognized how Martín radiated from more than just appearances. Their day was beautiful because they were there together, the memories they were making would be something precious and irreplaceable to him. He didn’t want to be this wrapped around someone else when his affections may not be returned. With the way his stomach dropped like a stone, he knew he wouldn’t tolerate the sting of rejection coming from Martín.  
  
“Andrés? You’re not going to get to see any of this if you keep standing there looking lost.”  
  
Martín was back to being only a few inches away, having come back for him. He nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets trying not to give his thoughts away. “I was checking what we still have time to see,” he offered as a means of explanation, raising his head to gesture to the second floor. “We’ve barely scratched the surface.”  
  
“We’ll just have to find other music museums.” He bit down on his lip after he finished his sentence, shifting his glance around the room as the weight of what he said settled in between them. Andrés’ chest puffed, removing some of the tension lower in his stomach at the sentiment, finding himself cut off before he had the chance to respond. “Look,” he instructed, turning them towards the far right wall.  
  
Oak encased emerald green organ pipes, accented with red arrows outlined by smaller ones of bronze. It was divided into two sections, the first alone taller than most of the visitors inside the museum. The second level of pipes extended into the ceiling, the light of a medium circle sunroof coupled with two small stage lights providing optimal lighting. The pines were covered with small domes, a small steeple in the center portion, just as fine as those on top of any of the nearby churches. Behind it, stained glass windows of crimson red, bright pink, violets, and warm yellows further grabbed the attention of anyone in the room. Five steps led to a platform, black velvet rope cutting off the areas where visitors were allowed to stand. An opaque plastic barrier kept those taking photos from falling forward while allowing an up close view.  
  
“We need a photo.”  
  
“We?” Andrés chuckled. “You are more than welcome to stand up there and give me a cheesy grin for the camera. I don’t think I’d hear the end of it if it got out I picked a favorite.”  
  
“I’m not sixteen, Andrés, it’s not going to end up all over the internet.” Martín scolded, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “We can have someone take the picture, but you’re coming with me if I have to carry you up here.”  
  
“Is that a threat?” His grin must have been insufferable because he was met with Martín’s theatrical eye roll.  
  
“_No_, it’s a promise.”  
  
“My, my. So insistent,” he chided merrily with a tsk. “If it means so much to you, I’ll join you for a photo.”  
  
Martín gave him an artificial curtsey, before he stepped away to find someone to take the photo for them. For all the slack he would have to take if anyone else were ever to see it, it was worth giving in to admitting no one else came close to his affection for Martín if it kept that silly smirk on his face. They waited their turn to climb the steps to the platform, before mindfully picking a space to stand. For the first time, he noticed just how nicely the maroon of Martín’s polo looked on him, the cuffs of his shirt wrapped around the lean muscles of his biceps. The casual outfit was one of his favorites so far and he considered telling Sergio to write the color palette into Martín’s required contract.  
  
“_Tranquilo_,” Martín muttered in his ear, “don’t make the poor kid take a hundred photos. I know you can smile.”  
  
He mimicked Martín’s tone as he responded, “Yes, _sir._” His arm wrapped around Martín’s shoulders, pulling him closer so the photo would reflect more than some of his childhood photos he had with Sergio.  
  
“Thank you,” Martín said, as his phone was extended up to him from the lower level. He swiped through a few of the options, and Andrés found himself peering over his shoulder. He hardly recognized the portrait of the man staring back at him, looking far more carefree and blissful than he’d felt in a while. While he was arguably in a good mood most of the time, there was something better about the man in the frame. He looked complete, sure of himself even. Andrés glanced up at Martín from the corner of his eye, chest swelling as a hint of acceptance firmly planted itself inside him.  
  
“We’ll have to hurry if we want to see any of the upper level.” Martín nodded, looking exasperated at his insistence to pick up the pace. He quickened his strides all the same, as they looked to identify the quickest route the spiral staircase.  
  
Along the way, he couldn’t help the way his eyes fell onto a collection of harpsichords. The museum housed the Bach cembalo and an identically replicated twin, and the classical painting on the inside cover caught his eye as they passed it. The fleeting view would have to be enough, though the temptation to stay yet another day in Berlin crossed his mind. There were so many things left to see in the museum and it gave them an utopia all their own.  
  
He must have slowed when he saw the travel sized harpsichord because the next thing he knew, he felt Martín’s shoulder hit against his back as he’d gone to continue their path. “We don’t have to hurry so much if you want to look at that.”  
  
“If we don’t--”  
  
“We can’t see everything, Andrés. We could spend days locked in here and still miss things. Just enjoy something you want,” he argued firmly, turning the man towards the table display.  
  
There was no denying the beauty of the mahogany harpsichord. Travel sized ones dating back in history were rare to come across, and the little sign giving its name provided a date range between 1700 and 1704. The pieces were folded together with the keyboard inserted. The red velvet of the interior cover was striking against the rich brown of the wood, and he moved around the table to take in the different angles. The weight of Martín’s eyes were on him as though he were committing all of his joy to memory. “They used to set a barquote temperature in the court of Frederich II.”  
  
Andrés paused, immediately looking at him after he spoke. His lips smacked together into a wide grin at the unexpected comment, certain he would have to be the one to provide historical facts. “You knew that?”  
  
Martín proudly tapped his pocket where his phone was being kept, “I am more than capable of _reading_,” he corrected. “I didn’t take all of the fancy lectures you did.”  
  
“I’ll start pulling books from my private collections for you to read if you’re not careful, Martín,” he mused.  
  
“I’m a little too old for homework.” He resolved that Martín’s playful antics wouldn’t be enough to get him off the idea this time, and once they were back in Spain he would browse the collections in his libraries for the best of his reading material. If Martín was going to be difficult about it, he would be forced to listen to Andrés drone a lecture out of the pages in his living room, without a single break until he could turn in a term paper.  
  
“Too bad,” he hummed. “Shall we?” He asked, after taking a full moment to enjoy the harpsichord.  
  
Upon reaching the second level, a funneled sculpture made of different guitars caught their eye. It was rather pitiful in size compared to the one he had seen photos of in Seattle, and mentally he made a note to drag Martín there someday. He didn’t have long to think about what the idea for more plans meant, as the intercom interrupted to remind ticket holders to make their way for the_ Wurlitzer _demonstration.  
  
Even from the short distance on the balcony, the centered view of one of the most incredible instruments the museum had to offer was in plain view. The horse-shoe shaped, illuminated game table had a white, abrasive varnish, accented in gold with notes of red and black adoring the keys of the orchestra command buttons. He cursed himself for not making sure they’d taken in a closer view of the spectacular organ. He reminded himself they would have more time after the performance to appreciate it in all its beauty from the bottom floor, and he would not trade the way things had gone during the day for anything.  
  
One of the museum curators stepped into the center of the floor after a few minutes, a headset wrapped around her ear to project her voice. “Guten tag,” she said, cheerfully. “We welcome all of you here today to this incredible performance. If this is your first time in our audience, or to a demonstration for a Wurlitzer, let me say you have truly never experienced anything quite like this. It is our hope you will remember this demonstration for a long time to come.”  
  
She stepped around the piano, keeping just a few inches away to clear the view for the audience as she continued her recited speech. “As you can see, there are ivory keys in the center of this organ. Along the rim here,” she paused, tracing her finger along the line of red and black keys, “is what makes this beautiful instrument extraordinary. The _Mighty_ _Wurlizter _is designed and marketed as a one machine orchestra. Englishman Robert Hope-Jones hoped the instrument could be used to aid silent films.”  
  
“The pipework and effect instruments are housed above me. Try to identify as many of the additional instruments and when the performance is finished, take a look to see how many you correctly recognized. After the performance, we also invite you all to ask any technical questions.”  
  
Andrés nodded as the presenter finished her speech, leaning close enough to almost rest his chin on Martín's shoulder. It would probably be frowned upon if anyone else heard him speaking about the well executed introduction to the _Wurlitzer_, but he couldn't bring himself to keep quiet. "She missed that all of the sounds are generated purely acoustically." Down below, he could see the presenter leading the audience in greeting the organist, but his attention was unevenly divided. 

Martín turned his head, looking as though he might simply tell him to shut up. "Did you download a copy of the speech?" He whispered back. 

"No, I knew that." 

"Still," Martín started, smiling as he looked at him, "at _ some _point you would have to have been taught that, no?" 

"Of course I had to learn it, I'm not a computer," he smirked back. "I just could have told_ you _ everything she did."  
  
“I’m sure you can make me a list of the things she missed later,” he suggested, turning his head towards the makeshift stage once again. 

He let out a low sound of objection, only to be met with Martín pressing his finger against his lips to shush him then as the organist stroked the first key. His breath was knocked away as she continued to play, the thrilling music filling the air. He’d thought he anticipated his reaction to the way the notes of the organ varied depending on which of the ivory piano keys or control buttons were pressed as the damper was moved or replaced, but nothing could have compared him for the experience. The distinct chiming of bells and clangs of cymbals fell in time with the contrasting pitches of the organ pipes. Vibrating black panels across from them released distinct and harmonious music, as the disciplined organist twirled between the available options underneath her dark fingers. The complete pipework and effect instruments were housed behind the three glass chambers, located behind the panels in the gallery. As suspected, the balcony provided them with the optimal view of the talented musician with the added bonus of the way sound released into the room. His fingers stretched forward, tracing the skin just behind Martín’s ear down to the curve of his jaw as his inhibitions were lost in the display. The tremor beneath his fingertips could easily have been a result of the music, he rationalized from the way his own arms had goosebumps covering them. The bright, harder, shriller timbre of a hard mallet against one of the xylophones made him pull his hand away, reminding him to be more mindful of the demonstration. A bugle and trumpet mixed into the delicate arrangement produced by the organist, pleasant harmonies continuing with each touch of a button.  
  
Dramatic music heightened the emotional weight of the demonstration, but he found further distraction in the way Martín’s hand refused to stay still, as the loud buzz of a tuba made itself known. Had there been more room, Andrés might have turned him around, drawing him into his arms for a second dance. Reluctantly, he made himself focus once again, knowing he would be filled with regret later if he could not recall the performance. His peripheral vision allowed him enough of a view of the other man, still twirling almost uncontrollably to the music.  
  


His hands wrapped around the railing in front of him as the performance started to dwindle towards an end. There was no denying throughout all of the show how much he recognized just how much he kept looking over at Martín. He was absorbed in the show, excitement painted in his eyes and Andrés couldn’t imagine having spent his day doing anything else. Their trip to the museum only confirmed how compatible they were, their shared interests fueling their enjoyment of the afternoon. As he looked at Martín now, he noticed how they were once again only a few inches away. The man had been only a short distance away from him all day, close but always just out of reach. Everyone around them was appreciating the last few minutes of the masterful organist, but his eyes kept tracing Martín. Slowly, his hand crept across his back, coming to rest on his opposite shoulder as he gently pulled him against his chest. Instead of going stiff the way he had at dinner, Martín relaxed against him, his head falling into the place between his neck and shoulder. He inhaled deeply, taking a moment to adjust to the tender embrace he’d been missing since he woke up that morning.  
  
As the show came to an end, Martín pulled away just enough to join the rest of the audience in a standing ovation for the organist. The moment the crowd began to disperse, his arm extended once again. This time, he faintly placed his fingers against Martín’s hip just enough to turn him towards the door. With the last fleeting hours away from Spain running out, he no longer wanted the noise of a crowd distracting them. The decision to stay in Berlin another day had been one of his best in a while. As they walked towards the double glass doors at the front of the museum, he felt Martín’s hand lightly grazing his, and noted the look of uncertainty as Martín kept watch on the ground in front of his feet. He smiled as he initiated looping his fingers between Martín’s, his arm now warmed pleasantly as they leaned closer to the other while walking. The sun was hanging low in the sky but not quite setting as Andrés guided them across the street to stroll along the concrete in the park along the winding green lake. The crowds of people enjoying picnics, walking nearby, or soaking in the last warm rays of the sun didn’t phase him, his attention completely drawn on Martín rather than any opinion anyone might have of him.  
Martín finally spoke up, softly as though he were undecided about breaking the peaceful silence between them. “I never knew that even existed in Berlin.”  
  
“I’m glad I never had the time to take anyone else. No one else would have made it as enjoyable as you did.” The words slipped off his tongue easily, no longer seeing any purpose in fighting the truth. He’d watched Martín light up with childlike amusement all day, and it made him ready to throw all caution to the wind. He pulled them over to one of the park benches sitting along a curve in the road near the lake. The middle of Martín’s back reclined against his right shoulder as their interlocked hands came to rest on his right knee. Sitting this closely added to the heat of the warm summer’s day, but he’d tie them together before he was willing to let Martín move. His left hand resumed his habit of drawing patterns on the back of Martín’s skin, fingers twirling in small circles around unable to stop. He didn’t need a reflection of himself to know his crow’s feet were prominent, the lines in his forehead only appearing in gentle expression.  
  
“It might be the first museum I’ve ever enjoyed. The company wasn’t half bad either,” he mused, his head nuzzling where it fell against Andrés. With every passing second, he could feel the tension in Martín’s body melting away as he became more comfortable in his hold. He’d lost the opportunity to enjoy their embraces when he’d fallen asleep, but now he was determined to be present in every single one. The man in his arms was increasingly becoming the most precious thing in his life and the absence of fear swelling in his chest allowed him to take more.  
  
He leaned forward just enough for his nose to push delicately into the soft part of Martín’s cheek. “I’ll take you to all the best ones. Barcelona. London. America,” he hummed, his slow and steady breathing making his voice lower. Each word was a promise he would keep if it meant he could spend another day lost in bliss with Martín. He’d clear his schedule and whisk them both away right then to hop between the top ten list if he knew he could be away for that long.  
  
“Maybe I’ll read up on them so I _ know _ more than curators too,” he chuckled.  
  
His smile curled as he rocked, unable to sit still from laughter at his own joke. Martín was even more stupidly irresistible when he was like this, and he really should have known his own weaknesses better by now. The small distance left between them roused something foreign inside of him, the last cautious parts of his resilience crumbling as his eyes traced the curve of his full, rosy lips. If he allowed himself to be vulnerable, this was the golden opportunity he had been looking for. The slow rhythmic beating of his heart weakened his ability to hold back, as he communicated unsteady words instead. “What would you have me around for if you already knew everything?”  
  
A tiny and extremely indistinct flash of challenge painted Martín’s piercingly blue eyes, and Andrés felt the dry itch of his throat, a small tremble creeping down his back as he tried to accept his fate. Martín’s sheepish grin betrayed his sudden confidence as he started to say, “I can think of—”  
  
The last of his self-control abandoned him as his left hand moved to grasp Martín’s chin, the other man frozen at the touch. His intention wasn’t to respond so intensely, but he knew he would go through with what he needed to do if he let Martín keep talking. He watched for subtle changes, anything that might crush his resolve but probably leave both of them better off. Instead he was met with a view of half-closed eyelids and the anticipating wobble of Martín’s bottom lip.  
  
“ _ Andrés _ ?” Martín mumbled almost imperceptibly, but still the only sound prickling his ears. The antagonizing jitter of his heart worsened as the phantom whisper of his name patiently begged him to make something out of the moment.  
  
His shallow breath cut off with the hint of pressure as his thin lips knocked featherlight against Martín’s. His heart dragged out each beat as he controlled each precise movement, hand unwinding around Martín’s chin to slide into place against the soft skin of his face and Martín’s head tilted naturally against his open palm. The warm and devout movements of Martín’s lips against his beaconed him, his right hand moving to fall on the side of Martín’s head. His fingers lazily combed through thick locks of hair, his delicate actions encouraged by a chaste moan. The overpowering heat threatened to consume him, the last warning to turn back lost as Martín’s hand fell flat against the back of his head. He melted into the careful way Martín pulled him closer, still meekly refusing to take more than what was given. 

His habitual greed seeped into his movements, possessiveness pouring through as he evoked larger, open-mouthed movements. Faint but persistent cautions told him to stop, knowing he couldn’t push it too far and maintain the innocence of their afternoon. As his lips fell away he kept his forehead pressed delicately against Martín’s, voice lost to lousy explanations that would taint the precious value of this moment. Instead, his thumb caressed the curve of his cheekbone under it, wordless offerings the best he could provide.  
  
His head bent forward, eyes falling shut before he snapped his head back up once more. Incoherent words were being spoken between Oslo and Manila, sitting on opposite sides of the table from each other. Each had identical mountains of paperwork in front of them, engaged in the final stage of contract negotiations for Tatiana. The room was dense and intolerable, his right hand tapping the outside of his pocket where his phone sat turned off instead. He could still hear the distant chirping of a rather obnoxious bird dragging them out of their privacy, the dull colors of an unspectacular sunset revealing the late hour. Martín’s eyes had stayed closed, reluctantly letting go as Andrés finally pulled away. He had obediently, wordlessly followed as they made their way to a cab without so much as an explanation. He grumbled his irritations at himself earning a side-eyed glance from Sergio, who was understandably assuming the words were about the meeting instead. 

  
Sergio resumed taking notes on whatever page he should have been following along on, and he thought he heard his brother voice a few thoughts of his own. Tatiana stayed oddly quiet, but he could feel the heat of her gaze as he continuously twisted his pen in his hand. “I want more control over who I tour with.” Tatiana’s request snapped him back into focus, a challenge presented with her trademark smile on her face. After eight years, he should have anticipated just about any reach for more control of her contract to present itself, but his thoughts knocked him off guard. She leaned forward and he took note of how her eyebrow raised, watching him as if she suspected she could take advantage of him being out of focus.  
  
“We don’t visit that until the ten year mark,” he replied, pointing randomly to one of the paragraphs in front of him. Manila responded to his remark, but he was already blocking everything else out again. 

Their kiss was the start of something beautiful, promises echoing of long lasting bonds if he didn’t move too quickly, and it had been too overwhelming. He’d never been in the position before to actually want to listen to the lectures Sergio provided about not rushing into things. They’d always been dismissed as sounding rather hypocritical coming from his younger brother who had asked Raquel and Paula to move in ten days into their relationship. After kissing Martín, the cautionary words seemed the most important ones he’d ever heard. He’d protected his own stupid pride by not allowing a simple explanation of his thoughts, but now his hand was slipping around the phone in the pocket of his slacks almost frantically.  
  
Surrounded by the aroma of cardamom, leather, and hints of brown sugar, he had made himself stay frozen in his seat, refusing to turn around to start tracing kisses along the smooth lines of Martín’s neck. He was intoxicating whether he intended to be or not, and Andrés found himself completely unwilling to lose him by moving too fast. Martín had not moved from him, and even now he wondered why he so willingly followed his sporadic movements rather than making any of his own.  
  
“Andrés.” Sergio’s grumble called him back to their meeting and away from the memory of inviting touches belonging to him. His brother was now looking at him to continue the conversation he should have a sound opinion on, while Oslo and Manila were standing leaned over the table with their hands outreached in a firm handshake, but Sergio and Tatiana’s inquisitive eyes were still on him. 

  
“I think you all have a firm grasp on what needs to be figured out here,” he started absentmindedly as he pushed up from the table, “you’re more than capable of doing this job without me.” He thought he saw Sergio’s jaw relax, mouth agape as he walked out of the room. He _ knew _ he’d heard a little unintentional gasp from Tatiana, taken away by his words. He’d never stepped out of a meeting that way before and definitely not because his focus was lost to the way blue eyes shined with illuminated specks of green after they’d kissed.  
  
Before he’d even reached the door to his office, his phone was already pressed to his ear. The dial tone seemed to stretch for minutes, and he only planted it firmly to his ear again when he confirmed it had only been a few seconds. The increasingly loud, rapid beating of his heart made his knees wobble as he sat down on his desk chair. He scolded himself, overcome with the urge to throw his phone across the room to shatter into pieces against the wall. He wouldn’t have to be so nervous Martín wouldn’t answer if he had been smarter in Germany. His weighing discouragement was nothing short of what he deserved for not so much as attempting an explanation.  
  
“Andrés,” the voice on the other end of the phone greeted, “Shouldn’t you be working?” He was being surprisingly pleasant and it slowly steadied Andrés’ shaky breath. The lack of annoyance was still more than he deserved after he’d reacted, but luckily for him, Martín never gave him the impression of holding onto grudges for very long.  
  
“Yes, but one could say calling you is part of my job.” His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose berating the defensive snark he knew shouldn’t have been his automatic response. It was the uncomplicated choice to fall into their usual pattern of flirtatious banter, but he knew he needed to do better than that now if he wanted to make up for his previous failure. 

“So this is a _business_ call?” The hint of offense in his voice was completely understandable and should’ve been anticipated after his flimsy attempt to lessen the meaning behind his intentions. Still, he felt his lip curl as he pictured Martín’s cocked head, lifted eyebrows and rightfully unamused grin. He felt himself shrink under its weight as he slumped against the chair, biting his tongue while he took a minute to think so he could efficiently redirect their conversation.  
  
“No, I’ll leave that between you and my brother.” The sweat of his palms and uneasy breathing rapidly returned, but he pushed through all the same. “I want to invite you to dinner this weekend. As I recall, I promised I would help you refine your palate.”  
  
Rightfully, he was met with initial silence. He tapped his fingers against his desk, fighting between hanging up the phone and allowing Martín time to consider his offer. 

  
“I could suggest my ability to cook a frozen pizza instead.” A faint smile pressed on Andrés’ face as he heard Martín’s humorous tone return. He still had the opportunity to express what he should’ve before and he intended to make the most of it this time around.  
  
“Tempting, Martín” he mused. “But perhaps that can be saved for a different date.” Stupidly, he wanted to jump as he heard the breath hitch in Martín’s throat, always overly thrilled when he had a grandiose reaction over the other man. He could feel the warmth of the rare, intimate smile painted on his face as he accepted he simply had never been so giddy at the way someone responded to him the way he was with Martín. For once, he didn’t loathe the way his heart skipped as he heard: “I’ll see you then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *smiles*


	20. Yours If You Want It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter has taken the rating up to M, and I've added a few tags. Please review before you read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Sorry this one took so long everyone. This past week really kicked my ass, and I really wanted to make sure this chapter was as perfect as it could be. The second half took FOREVER! But, we are here now and I only have 10 chapters left to go! Makes me a little sad, if I'm honest. I love ELT!Berlermo. So soft and happy, and free of all the angst. 
> 
> (As I stated in the chapter summary, I edited a few things in the summary/tags/rating, so please carefully review that before you read.

With his hands wrapped around the outer rim of the oak picture frame, he sunk into his sofa with a heavy sigh. The tip of his index finger tapped the glass, moving in a little circle around one of the protected pressed orchids. They had been tied with a pale yellow string to the ticket stubs from the museum by the employee who had assembled his memento, and was by far the easier side of the frame to look at. Still, he pushed on the inner corners, flipping it around to the photograph on the other side. His own crooked smile stared back at him, but was easily overlooked in favor of Andrés’ carefree one. His heart swelled at the memory of the moment, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that they’d been happy at the museum. Andrés’ touches were warm and gradually less restrained, until he held back no longer in the park. Martín’s thumb faintly touched his bottom lip, chasing the ghost of the kiss placed on them. In all the times he thought he might be granted the chance to pursue something with Andrés, he’d never imagined it’d end quite like that. They’d seemed to be making ground in Berlin until it came to an abrupt halt. He groaned again as he glanced at his wrist to check the time.  
  
In retrospect, rushing to the store the first moment he could might not have been one of his better ideas. Now he had something tangible to fixate all of his confusion on, which had meant nothing was actually picked up in his house before Denver would arrive shortly. Normally it wouldn’t have bothered him to have little pieces of clutter spread around the house, but he had been making a solid effort for a few weeks now. Unexpected guests were something he foolishly hoped for, even though no one had been around for a few weeks now.  
  
The timer buzzed on his oven and he slowly folded himself off of the couch. He put the picture down on the center table, making a note to take it to his room before Denver got a good look at it. His friend might be willing to listen but that didn’t mean he wanted to talk. It was easier around Denver to hide the puff of his lip and droopy eyes Martín knew he wore, than be asked about what happened to make him so gloomy. He wasn’t even sure what there was to talk about without making it seem like he’d blown up the significance of the events in his head. Nagging doubts reminded him it could very easily have been taken out of context, knowing it was very easy to get swept up in a moment. The explanation easily explained the silence he’d gotten after their kiss, and he pulled the oven door back with unnecessary force.  
  
Frozen pizza would have to do given that he had no interest in leaving the house. He’d been exhausted without needing the excess confusion about what all had happened in Germany. It should have stayed simple, after all: flowers, dinner, museums, and _ falling asleep _ together should have painted one very clear picture. If that hadn’t been enough, there had been the plane ride back to Spain.  
  
He recalled how he’d tried to get Andrés to talk to him, sitting side to side with little for him to do. The other man kept quickly explaining away how they could talk when he finished working on _ this _ or _ that _ , but it all seemed endless. He’d kept his notebook out of his overhead bag, but the pen was slowly running out of ink. Little glances seemed pointed in his direction while Andrés had worked on a few things of his own. The little prying game had started to get on his nerves, and when a small shadow had fallen over his notebook, he’d finally had enough. Only as he’d opened his mouth, he found Andrés’ head rolled onto his shoulder once again.  
  


“Stubborn man,” he’d whispered under his breath, as he’d pushed away the floofy curls falling over his eyelids. But, he had to admit the contact felt nice, had felt _ right. _ Andrés trusted him in waves and though he hated the lingering chill when he pulled away, each moment between them had gotten gradually longer and better.  
  
His eyes had fallen to the curve of lips he’d tasted a chaste kiss from only a few hours ago. For as brief as the moment had been, his heart was still beating slow from the memory. There was a real possibility this man had more interest in him than he displayed, and he’d been trying to prove it for the last two days. He knew men like Andrés, and they did not make such bold moves only to end them so quickly. Though he could not understand the need to pull away, he knew there was still hope for something deeper here. He just had to also hope Andrés wouldn’t pull away to focus on their business relationship. He had put the notebook away, raised his armrest, and made himself into a more comfortable body pillow for the remainder of the flight then, favoring embracing the moment instead of overthinking it.  
  
The knock at the door broke him from his thoughts, closing the oven as he shouted, “just a minute!”  
  
He wanted to slam it again the moment he saw his friend was not alone. He’d been greeted with Mónica, dressed in a lovely green dress, and a bright smile on her face. Denver’s hand was wrapped around her waist, his focus on planting little kisses against her cheek as he pushed away bouncing curls. “I wasn’t expecting Mónica,” he tried to say as pleasantly as he could, but still earned a quick glare from his friend.  
  
“Ricardo,” Mónica chastised, and Martín had to scoff at the use of his given name over the nickname he favored, “you didn’t ask if I could join you? I’m sorry Martín, I didn’t mean to come unexpected.”  
  
“You are always welcome,” he quickly corrected, trying not to misplace his frustration onto her shoulders. It wasn’t her fault she was a reminder of things he needed a break thinking about. Instead, he gestured around the house, as he stepped out of the way to let them in. “I just would have cleaned up better if I’d known Denver was bringing you.”  
  
“It’s not a problem. He should have asked,” she said through giggles, as he kissed her cheek again. The little scrape at the bottom of his empty stomach threatened to plant bigger seeds of jealousy as he watched them, having everything come so easy after one night. Denver had found someone one day over lunch, and he’d been writing silly love songs to the same man for five months.  
  
“Have a seat,” he suggested, picking up a few random objects up from the kitchen. “I’ll get these out of the way. I hope you don’t mind a frozen pizza, Mónica. You can blame Denver for the poor selection.”  
  
“It’s fine, Martín,” he insisted, rolling his eyes as they moved towards the soft. He immediately regretted ushering them to give him more space just a few seconds later. “Did you finally get your man?” Denver cheered, flashing him a stereotypical wingman smile. In his hands, he waved the picture frame before letting Mónica have a glance. The sour look which Martín returned to him must have never crossed his face before, because the normal cackle of a laugh caught in his friend’s throat.  
  
From behind gritted teeth, he glared at his friend ready to throw something at his head. “Not now, Ricardo,” he warned, hinting at the seriousness of the situation. Eyes darted to Mónica, who was focused once again on the picture, a simple smile on her face. Dread overcame him, not needing word to get back to Andrés before he had time to talk to him. Something had already spooked him, and Martín had no plans to lose his chance for good because someone else spoke of his affections. 

  
“I didn’t know Andrés went to Berlin.”  
  
“I don’t think it was very well planned.” He rubbed at the corners of his face, forcing his features to relax before he released the same frustrations out on her. None of this was their fault, and he wasn’t even sure how much blame he could place on Andrés.  
  
“I’m glad Andrés has someone like you,” Mónica nearly whispered, putting the picture frame back into place on the table.  
  
“It was mostly worked related,” he said, with just enough bitterness to make her move her head in disagreement.  
  
“No, I’d know if it was. He doesn’t prioritize new talent this much. Besides, he’s always in a better mood after he’s been around you. I’m sure he wanted to go.”  
  
The compliment took a moment longer to register in his head, and a genuine smile slowly returned to his face as it did. As hard as it was to deal with the lukewarm hesitance directed at him, their relationship was still noticeable enough for her to comment on. This evening was not the one to figure it all out and he made a note not to obsess about any of it then. “How have things been in Spain?”  
  
This time when he looked over at Denver and Mónica relaxing on the sofa, he felt happier for them. He put his things back on the counter, opting instead to bring the food over to his tiny square table. “Weather has been hot as shit. How was the show?”  
  
“It was spectacular. I should have invited you, you probably would have found all the mistakes I made,” he replied, grinning. “You’ll have to come to the next one. It was amazing, performing so many people and having them cheer afterward. But it would have been boring to celebrate alone.”  
  
“Well, it’s a good thing we didn’t,” Denver replied with a wink, this time only making Martín roll his eyes.  
  
He opted to divert the conversation with, “Do you go to a lot of the concerts, Mónica?”  
  
“A few. I’d be happy to see your show, though. You’ll probably know where and when the next one will be soon.”  
  
The mention of the next live performance made his chest swell with pride. The idea of another show had fallen out of his focus with everything else that had happened, but she was right. There would be more opportunities coming up so his name didn’t fade. Adrenaline made his blood pump faster as he fell back against his seat, eating and wondering how long it would be until he would be headlining his own tours.  
  
“Are you going to take that?” Mónica asked, tapping his knee and breaking him from the thoughts of crowds cheering his name. He looked back to the counter, where his phone was vibrating loudly.  
  
“Yeah, it might be Sergio. I haven’t heard from since I got back about what comes next.” He excused himself, making his way to quickly accept the call. He kept his back turned to hide the flushed smile he knew he wore at the other name on his screen. He tried to keep his voice lower, looking over his shoulder to make sure Denver and Mónica were too wrapped in each other to listen to his conversation. “Andrés, shouldn’t you be working?”  
  
“Yes, but one could say calling you is part of my job,” came the reply on the other end of the line. He could feel his face starting to fall, little sparks of irritation creeping up again as he replied, “So this is a _ business _ call?”  
  
He knew it shouldn’t be so offensive that Andrés was calling to talk about things for his career, but this was the most they’d spoken since the kiss. He didn’t want to think about work around him until they had their budding personal relationship figured out. It wasn’t fair to expect that from him either and he’d hoped Andrés respected that. 

“No, I’ll leave that between you and my brother,” came his first answer, quick to shut down Martín’s frustrations. It was at least off to a better start and a chance to address his concerns. He noted the shaky breath on the other end of the line, and he still found it charming that he could have any sort of effect on Andrés. “I want to invite you to dinner this weekend. As I recall, I promised I would help you refine your palate.”

He broke out into a grin, face falling into his open hand as he leaned against the counter. Now he was really grateful Denver had something diverting his attention, knowing all too well his friend would be commenting in the background on his obvious shift in body language. “I could suggest my ability to cook a frozen pizza instead.” 

“Tempting, Martín” he heard Andrés muse. “But perhaps that can be saved for a different date.”  
  
The promise of a second date before they’d even had the first, left his head spinning. He managed to choke out a little, “I’ll see you then,” before he’d hung up the phone. Options for a few times and dates came quickly via text after he’d gotten off the phone, the telling grin still on his face as he sat down with his friends again.  
  
Denver leaned forward, voice low as he tried “So you did get your man,” he teased, earning a flick in the middle of his head, ignoring the question as he resumed finishing his food.  
  
Two days went by quickly since the phone call, a mix of anticipation, excitement, and nerves making time go faster. He should have used his time to better prepare to get his first glimpse of Andrés’ _ villa _ , but he knew nothing would have been enough to keep him from wanting to tell Matías to turn the car back around. The date had already started with him being _ picked up _ by the company driver, rather than Andrés himself. It seemed over the top, but Matías had tried his best to stammer through reasons why he had been sent, nervous words covering up details he insisted he did not know or could not reveal. Martín had patted him on the back, taken the seat in the back of the car, and made a note to comment on how Andrés insisted he was picked up like a dry cleaned suit. Now, all his confidence melted away as the three tiered home stared back at him from the other side of the car door. Gorgeous grey stones in varying shades composed the exterior, a few small windows adoring the front around the arched entrance way. Shrubbery surrounded the exterior of the house, making way for a few prized plants that had been meticulously well maintained. For all the money he knew Andrés had, something about the care poured into those plants told him he did it himself. It was the first sign there might be less to be intimidated by than the large face of his house let on, and finally his shaky hand found its way onto the door handle.  
  
“I’ll just be here whenever you’re ready to go,” Matías said, turning off his car as he pulled out his phone.  
  
“You’re just going to sit here all evening?”  
  
“Sometimes he’s really quick about these things,” he replied, already scrolling on the screen uninterested in continuing their conversation. It didn’t matter as he released a deep breath, trying to steady himself as he stepped out of the car. It shouldn’t concern him what happened in the past, because he knew it only made another hurdle in his path. Andrés had taken the time to call him, insisting that it wasn’t about business between them. He couldn’t imagine he would bring him into his home for some cheap thrill, not when he hadn’t even been able to talk to him after their kiss in Berlin.  
  
Little bunches of hazel lavender caught his eye before he could reach the front door. He took a moment to admire it, fighting the temptation to run his hand through his hair. When he opened that door, he’d probably be greeted by a small team of caterers, moving around quietly as instructed. Spain seemed such a greater obstacle between them, defined heavily by job titles and expectations. Germany was far enough away it had allowed their attachment room to be explored, without prying eyes or status getting in the way. Even then, Andrés had still managed to pull away from the kiss in a way he still couldn’t make sense of. He’d tried and tried, in being alone and in listening to what Mónica had to say, to give the situation he found himself in any clarity. His fingers rubbed against the smooth lavender, helping to try and ground himself again. Explanations were in order, a conversation needed to be had, but it would do him no good to get carried away in panic.  
  
After all, Andrés had kissed him. Andrés had asked him _ on a date. _Hell, he’d even fallen asleep on his shoulder on the plane back to Spain. His feelings were just as on display as Martín, even if words were lost between them. He’d never been the best communicator, so it was hardly fair for him to keep making such assumptions or second-guessing whatever lied between them. 

He probably should have knocked, instead of nearly throwing the door open with his renewed surge of confidence. The house was already immaculate, just from the quick glance around, but strangely empty and void of sound. From where he stood, he could see the house stretching out to a large landscape in the back, what looked like a pool, and more furniture than one person living alone could possibly need. The main room held very little, a few sofas carefully arranged but looking as though they’d never been sat on. The center feature was a striking maroon grand piano, fixated towards the door and mimicking the same pattern of collecting dust. Nothing _ looked _ touched in here, and for someone so full of life, he couldn’t surmise why Andrés didn’t entertain more.  
  
“Andrés?” He called after a moment.  
  
“I should’ve known it was you, you’re the only one who would invite yourself in.” The voice rang from the room he could only assume was the kitchen, light and humorous even if he was trying to scold him.  
  
“It can’t be any worse than you having me _ fetched _ for a date.” Andrés’ happy chuckle broke through the stillness of the house, and he could hardly maintain his false irritation at the other man’s actions. If he was being completely honest, it was nice to have a chauffeur.  
  
“I—well, I did have a few things to finish. Would you have preferred I cancelled?” This time, he stepped from around the corner, standing across from Martín at the end of the hall. He wore the dark blue shirt as well as he ever did anything else, but it didn’t catch Martín’s eye for very long. Instead, the white apron covering the front of his black slacks covered with very faint lines of food caught his attention. He raised his eyebrow, walking forward as he kept looking Andrés up and down again.  
  
“Have you been cooking?”  
  
“No, I dress like this for all of my dates. It’s a uniform, we’ll have to get you one.” He rolled his eyes, turning in a quick half circle towards the door. Looking over his shoulder, he could see Andrés looking as if he might ball up the apron to throw at him if he started to seriously consider leaving the house.  
  
Martín turned back around, making his way further into the house as they met in the middle of the walkway. Andrés’ hands took just a moment to fall around the sides of his face, mirth reflected in the way he looked at him. A simple kiss was planted against his cheek, familiar and friendly. But, brown eyes exposed just a hint of vulnerability as he pulled away again, and Martín didn’t need to be blatantly told there was more meaning beyond the usual hello. His fingers laced with Andrés’ before he could move too far away, gesturing to the large house. “Aren’t grand tours usually in order?”  
  
“I invited you for dinner_, _not to sell you my home.” 

The defense mechanism reminded him too much of the way he’d retreated in Berlin, but this time he reacted on instinct. He reassuringly rubbed his thumb against Andrés’ wrist, whose eyes fluttered closed as he took a moment to look for calmer words again. Martín continued the little movements, refusing to let them end their evening so quickly. “Dinner is a good place to start, too.”  
  
He nodded, the smile back on his face as he looked at Martín again. But before Andrés spoke, he walked them closer to the beautiful instrument sitting in the room. Up close, Martín could admire the beautiful accents of etched roses above the keyboard. He hadn't noticed the small photograph sitting on top, holding a photo of Andrés beaming with Sergio, Raquel, and a small girl he imagined was their daughter. He wore the same smile he had in the picture Martín printed from Berlin, and this was the Andrés that kept him longing to know more. He’d be more responsive than he had been during their trip as he was a minute ago, and keep working until Andrés felt comfortable enough to keep his façades away. 

His finger trailed over the case covering the keys, avoiding asking more serious questions about Andrés’ little family. “What made you pick this piano? It’s a big statement piece for your showroom.” 

Martín could sense the way his eyes shifted onto the lid, watching him for a moment as he probably debated how to answer. He wanted to change the subject to avoid prying, but was cut off before he could speak. “It was one Sergio’s father always wanted,” Andrés started, softening again as he shared the simple truth. “I felt drawn to it when he died and I had the money. But I never learned how to play.” 

“I’ll teach you, if you teach me to cook,” he replied, still stroking circles against the sensible part of his skin. He took a staged inhale as he pulled his hand away from the piano, adding, “something smells really good.” 

“I would hope so. I’ve been cooking since yesterday. It’s hard to distinguish all the smells mixed in with some of the things I had to use to clean, but you’ll get a better idea at the table.”  
  
“Should I cover my eyes to build suspense?”  
  
“You’d be putting a lot of faith in me. I might just let you walk into something,” he teased, directing them around the corner towards the dining room table. 

“You might,” he agreed. Andrés’ half chuckle was lost on him as he appreciated the view from the back of the house. Wide, large windows made up the back portion of the house, it was easier to see all the lush trees creating a perimeter around the house. The little oasis made for thinner walls, but the empty feeling seemed to follow all the same. A few pieces of art were arranged on the walls meticulously. Every little modern detail should serve to impress, but that was only a fleeting first impression.  
  
But before he could comment on it, Andrés was pulling out his chair and motioning for him to sit. Dishes were previously placed on the table, and a little blue orchid sat between their spaces. The reminder of Germany seemed to add to the idea tonight was purely theirs. Everything was working together to confirm he hadn’t built it all up in his head. Words would come later, but for now, he simply enjoyed watching Andrés finishing placing food onto rimmed plates.  
  
The plate placed down in front of him held small dumplings arranged on the plate with diced pieces of chicken. He’d seen things like this before, but never tried it. Pasta normally wasn’t worth going through this great of lengths for. “What am I supposed to do with this?”  
  
“Martín,” he said, picking up his fork, “I know they left you in a cave when it comes to wine, but I’d hoped I didn’t need to feed you.” His fork cut into a piece of the dish, nearly mimicking a helicopter as he started to reach over the table. 

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”  
  
“I’d hate to assume, Martín,” he shrugged, the fork landing in his own mouth in the end. “Gnocchi prepared with chicken and pesto. Both the pasta and the sauce are prepared fresh, everything's better when you do it yourself.”  
  
He placed his fork down, waiting for Martín to taste it himself. The creamy garlic and herbs were bold, but not overdone. The pillowy, tender pasta melted in his mouth, and he had to refrain from shoveling in the next bite. “And you really made it yourself?”  
  
“I did.”  
  
“And isn’t that a lot of work, just for having someone like me over for dinner?” He bit down on the tip of his fork, not intending to have bridged their conversation this way. His tone had shifted when he said it, more self-critical than anything else, but still probing. A momentary silence filled the room and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Nothing came to him, no hints of an apology or an explanation to offer Andrés.  
  
He put the fork back down, ready to excuse himself from the table, until Andrés’ hand fell on the back of his. “I didn’t handle things very well after the museum.” Their eyes met, and he could see the sincerity in what seemed to be the start of an unspoken apology.  
  
“I didn’t mean to bring it up like that.”   
  
Andrés nodded, simply. “You can bring it up however you want. If I were you, I’d have a lot more questions and I’d have demanded them at the front door.” Eyes fell to their hands, his smile filled with a hint of pain almost completely hid behind the peaceful bliss. “I know there is something between us. I’ve known it since Sergio called and I listened to your music. I didn’t expect to grow so fond of you.”  
  
“That doesn’t explain why you ‘ran’,” Martín pushed, a single air quote around the word so it was just enough to maintain his concern, while hoping to gain more clarity. Andrés kept fixated on the way his fingers were once again stroking the back of his hand, but there was something new in his eyes. Martín couldn’t quite identify what it was, because little hints of fear mixed with desire couldn’t possibly be it. “If I did something wrong then—”  
  
“No, of course you didn’t,” Andrés cut him off, hand cupping his now.  
  
“So, I’m not making all this up?” He asked, pointing back and forth between them.  
  
He shook his head once, still not looking back up at him just yet. “At first, I tried not to get attached to you. Admittedly, very little effort was actually put into that, I enjoyed your music and pestering Sergio was an added bonus.”  
  
“You don’t have to be so sheepish,” he replied, wishing he were more capable of keeping his first thoughts to himself. His lack of filter seemed to work though, as Andrés looked less uncertain if he could bring himself to finish his own thoughts by the thin smirk on his lips.  
  
“I do these things the wrong way. I rushed in, and it ended in divorces. And, if I am being honest—” he paused, looking up at him with earnest eyes, “—in the start I never felt anything close for any of them what I feel around you. I don’t want to make the same mistakes I have before.”  
  
His heart could have stopped then, with the way his breath hitched just a little at the honest words. Assumptions and best guesses were gone now, out in the open between them. Even through all of his suspicions and the little displays of shared affection, he didn’t think he’d be granted the actual confirmation. His hand curled to wrap around Andrés’ as he leaned forward and brought his hand up to his lips for a doting kiss. “Patience is one of my better virtues. I won’t push you.”  
  
He seemed more poised at the promise and Martín felt his own doubts further falling away. If it took another ten years of waiting, it could be easily done with these types of moments between them. There was nothing to hurry for and he’d meant that. With another gentle squeeze of Andrés’ hand, he slowly resumed picking up his discarded fork to continue enjoying his dinner.  
  
Deep reds mixed with stunning violets and striking accents of orange accented the room with the setting sun. While there was no denying Andrés’ house was spectacular, there was something grey and dull lurking in the shadows when he’d first arrived. It felt colder, _ empty _ even, only a few short hours ago. Now, the sunset bled through the windows and reflected all around them. The way Andrés smiled, as though he didn’t have a single worry in the world for the first time in far too long, made the beat of Martín’s heart slow, skipping one or two beats in between. 

From behind the counter, Andrés carried back two rose gold plates back to the table, replacing the charger plates. He placed one in front of each of them before taking his seat again. Martín ignored the dish, outstretching his hand across the table while gesturing with his other to the sliding glass door. “It’s a lovely night, we could go step outside,” he suggested.  
  
Andrés pointed to the dark domed cakes in front of them, topped with sprinkled powdered sugar and sliced raspberries. “I made these specifically for you, and you just want to throw it all away?” He teased, palm falling flat against his chest instead of taking Martín’s awaiting hand.  
  
“We can take them outside. Shouldn’t you be reciting poetry about the sunset instead of complaining anyway?” Nimble fingers wrapped around the edge of his dessert plate, ready to do as he pleased. 

  
“I think you have me confused with Lorca,” he teased, pouring thin lines of port into the antique glasses. Martín stuck out his bottom lip, turning away to look longingly out the door. There was no need to be so persistent about where they finished the meal, but he wondered if he was able to make Andrés comply with his wishes.   
  
As though he could read his thoughts, Andrés’ dark eyes pooled with mischief as if ready to move his verbal chess piece first. “Besides, I think I’d rather listen to your verses, predilecto.” The dip of his voice when he spoke again left Martín’s hands shaking, face flushed as he turned back to devote his full attention on his charmer. Andrés picked up the glasses in front of them, complying with Martín’s wishes then. He hurriedly picked up his plate again, balancing the dessert spoon on the edge next to the cake, and eagerly followed.  
  
Crisp summer air gave a pleasant greeting as they stepped outside. The sunken seating area around an empty fireplace offered a perfect view, with multiple options of pillows to prop up against. The u-shaped bench gave both of them plenty of space to spread out and enjoy the final course. He walked down the steps, Andrés just a few steps behind. He sat on the shorter side facing the horizon and grinned as Andrés followed. His breath nearly squeaked as Andrés sat down, their sides brushing. He placed the glasses down on the fireplace before picking up Martín’s dessert spoon from the plate, cutting into the cake.  
  
“What are you doing—” he started to have his objections cut off as the semi-sweet cake fell onto his tongue. Heated chocolate dripped down his mouth, balanced with the tartness from flecks of raspberry. Mirth brightened Andrés’ eyes and even if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t gather an ounce of faux annoyance at being spoon fed.“Mmm, that’s amazing.”  
  
Placing the spoon back down on the plate, he pointed nonchalantly to the crimson port. “It gives the bitterness of the chocolate just enough sweetness,” he explained, taking the plate from Martín’s hands to allow him the ability to take a drink.  
  
“Are you going to keep coddling me all night?” He questioned, raising the rim of the glass to his lips following instructions. As promised, the nutty, mature flavor of the port sweetened the lasting bitterness of the cake. Andrés looked rather satisfied at the look on his face, thumb coming to rest on the flat part of his chin.  
  
“You gripe too much.”  
  
Martín took his moment of distraction to pick up the spoon between two fingers, sneakily carving out a piece of his own. Dark eyes seemed lost in mapping the features of his face, but his chuckle betrayed his intentions. Drops of chocolate smeared on the corner of Andrés’ mouth, bites cake smashed past his curved lips. His attempt to eat the broken pieces of cake combined with a mild snicker left him reaching for his own drink to swallow back his cough. “ _ Meirda _ ! Sorry,” Martín apologized, placing the plate down.  
  
Andrés waived his hand in front of his chest, low laughs stifled in his throat. He sat up tall, taking his time to wash it down. By the time he put the empty glass back down, rosy cheeks and darting eyes exposed his state of embarrassment. Wordlessly, he busied himself by opening the compartment under the fireplace, opting for distraction over looking at Martín. He wanted to tell him to relax, but knew better than to push his luck. Instead, as Andrés pulled out a few of the chopped pieces of wood, Martín moved the dishes to the end of the bench.  
  
After the glowing orange fire was lit, they both took their side by side spots again. Andrés shifted ready to increase the distance between where they sat, but he wasn’t quick enough. Martín’s arm curved around his back, pulling him against his chest. His own legs extended, back slacked against the bench, relaxing in the warmth offered by the fire. As he got comfortable, Andrés tossed in his arms, never staying in one spot for very long. A few moments passed, and he bit on the inside of his lip to keep it from curling down. Of course, he had been too bold too soon and Andrés’ reaction was more than understandable. This was not their new agreement. As his arm started to slink away until Andrés’ fingers weaved through the spaces between his, coming to rest across his stomach.  
  
“I’m glad you’re here.” His breath caught a little, eyes widening at such transparent honesty and he took the moment to place an adoring kiss against the curve of Andrés’ forehead. He should be so lucky to get to enjoy new embraces with the man he adored. Martín brushed away the loose curls above his forehead, a content smile upon his lips as he could’ve sworn he’d heard a little purr escape Andrés. The dancing flames lulled them into a comfortable silence as they let the night roll in.  
  
The crackling sound of the dwindling fire in front of them and the moon hanging in the clear night sky speaking to the late hour. If they had a blanket, he would have draped it over them, refusing to let anything on Earth drag him away. But, he didn’t have his own mode of transportation to get home and it was hardly fair to force Matías to sleep in the back of his car. There would be other nights spent like this with Andrés, even if there was something precious about the first. His fingers trailed down the other man’s back, making him shiver as Martín roused him from his pensive state. “It’s almost ten. I’m afraid it’s probably time I go home.”  
  
“If you think it’s best.”  
  
Words of protest built up in his head, but he locked them away. “Matías already waited all night in the car. Best to let him off for the evening.” He could have easily imagined the way the other man seemed to deflate in his arms because it still seemed so out of reach his presence could have such an affect. Martín placed another kiss above the curve of his eyebrow, bold, reassuring words left in faint whispers against his skin. “Mi querido, Andrés.”  
  
He untwisted his arm from around Andrés then, knowing he would not have the strength to walk away if he waited a minute longer. Picking up the dishes from the bench, he looked back to see Andrés propped up on his elbow, eyes glancing him over. His deep brown eyes and the sly curve of his lip spoke to whatever he was silently contemplating, leaving little bumps on his arms.  
  
“Stop looking at me like that.”  
  
“Like what?”  
  
Perfect ignorance painted his words, but Martín knew better than that. He would’ve grabbed Andrés’ hands in his hands and kissed that ludacris, angelic smile off his face if he knew he had the self-restraint to stop there. He shook his head, chastising with the same playfulness instead. “Stop acting like a saint and come on. It’s late,” he ushered, walking towards the house without waiting to see if he was being followed.  
  
Dishes were placed in the sink and he found himself disappointingly staring at the front door. From behind him, he could feel the palpable heat of Andrés still watching him. He scratched at the skin on the back of his neck, heart quickening as he contemplated the other man’s intentions. “You’re being rather rude. Did no one tell you how to properly say goodnight?”  
  
“I’ll say goodnight at the door. Right now, I’m appreciating this moment.”  
  
Martín licked his bottom lip then, nervous jitters filling his chest. Eyes fixated on the door, but his hand extended back behind him waiting until Andrés’ fingers laid gingerly against his. Little static shocks flared against his skin, his miniature _ yelp _ met with a deep chuckle. “Careful.”  
  
“I think you did that on purpose,” he replied as they made their way to the opposite end of the room.  
  
“I can think of better ways to provoke you, Martín.”  
  
The double meaning of his words made the breath hitch in his throat, cracking at his decision to leave. It was far too easy to evoke challenge then, even with the way his shoulders clenched betraying his confidence. “You’ll have to demonstrate sometime.”  
  
Anticipation froze him, until a minute passed and nothing came of it. Instead they found their way to the door as planned, disappointment tugging little strings around his heart. His hand reached for and twisted the doorknob, cracking it open just enough up one finger to the awaiting driver. He turned back around to bid Andrés goodbye, taking one final glance around the house. Every part of him wanted to fight to stay, to run back outside and hold this man tight, but he’d meant what he’d said. Instead, he lifted Andrés’ hand to his lips in mock chivalry, placing delicate kisses against each of his knuckles. “Goodnight,” he whispered, stroking Andrés’ fingers trying to find his will to go back to his apartment. But as Martín let go of his hand, it only moved past his head to click the door closed. Andrés looked at him with passionate purpose, eyes shifting from side to side as he took him in. The spark ignited again between them as Martín took a step back and Andrés took a step forward.  
  
He smelt of the lasting cherry aroma of burnt firewood, strong enough to overpower his already intoxicating cologne. The buzz of the wine they'd shared earlier over dinner paled at the one dancing in the back of his throat now. He inhaled again as his back connected with the door, eyes falling to finely curved lips. The anticipation knocked his breath away, Andrés giving him little indication to the full extent of his intentions. The waiting game of a few measly inches elicited tremendous, wild thumps in his chest as his hands fell flat against the door, trying to steady himself as his knees buckled. Warm air brushed against the corner of his mouth as Andrés dipped his head lower but it was still not enough to close the distance. He was growing impatient, but with fingers tracing his jawline he found his fingers only curling against the door.  
  
“ _ Andrés _ .” His hoarse voice trembled when he spoke as the pad of Andrés’ index finger dragged along his bottom lip. Little hairs scratched at the skin under his jaw and a lingering kiss was planted against the bone. A moan tickled his throat from the sensation, and he couldn’t fight the way his hands stroked Andrés’ sides, exploring how far he could go in return. He must have done something right because he could feel the smirk form against his skin, lips seemingly permanently away from where he truly wanted them.  
  
Patience was what had been asked of him and he’d been more than willing to provide. But lips moving in a jagged line down his neck tore at the agreement Andrés had broken first. Itching fingers finally found their way faintly onto Andrés’ hips, half expectant to be flicked away for hastening the pace. A low chuckle singed pleasantly against the exposed skin just above the curve of his shirt collar, kisses paused momentarily. A slim finger popped open the top button, and his breath caught almost at the point of panting from carefully placed touches. “Andrés, _ please _ .”  
  
Another button was opened, a finger tracing up from his sternum to circle the place where his throat bobbled. His mouth dried, coarse breaths nearly stinging his lungs as his mind recognized the lack of wet lips against him. He tried to look at him and silently communicated his needs, but determination met devotion in those dark brown eyes only making his heart beat slower. He could have been undone right there, shivers coursing down his spine as he tilted his head up, teeth digging into his bottom lip. Andrés caught his chin, lightly making Martín keep his eyes fixed on him. He could be burnt to charcoal for all he cared, but he could not spend another second without voicing what he wanted.  
  
“_Kiss me.” _ _  
_ _  
_ And finally, his plea was enough. Hands reached up to cup his face, the force of the kiss keeping his head pinned against the door. His lips parted against Andrés’, deepening the kiss in quicker movements. Persisting bitterness of the chocolate and nutty hints of port mixed with ash from the flames enticed a loud moan from him, drowning out the sounds he drew from Andrés. His hands crumbled around the bottom of Andrés’ shirt, tugging it free just enough to rub his thumbs in small circles against a small line of exposed skin. He continued the touches until he earned a low groan, making him fall forward unrestrained now in the way he kissed Andrés.  
  
Hands worked their way down his face, running smoothly down his neck, taking their time to stroke down the exposed line of skin down the middle of his chest. It was almost frustrating how tormentingly slow Andrés made his movements, each calculated and controlled in a way Martín knew he wasn’t capable of. This man had driven him wild from the moment they’d met, but a new boldness propelled him then as he knocked Andrés’ hands away with only two buttons left. He heard his name in a grumble of protest, but ignored him all the same as he held tighter to Andrés’ wrists.  
  
His lips grazed Andrés’ earlobe, whispering in a low-pitch, “You wanted to move slow, _ no? _ ” Sharp audible breaths filled the air as Martín directed kisses to different places. He started pure on the bump of his nose, taking his time to move his mouth to the pouting corner of Andrés’ mouth. He twisted his wrists in Martín’s hands, muffled little complaints at the shift between them. Another arrangement of kisses were placed on his cheek, just under his tilted chin, just behind his ear, and _ finally _ Martín allowed himself the taste of luscious lips once again.  
  
“I adore you,” he mumbled. A rasping cry followed his words, revealing the depth Andrés held for them. Softer kisses painted Martín’s face in return, until it was enough motivation for Andrés’ hands to finally break loose. Fierce heat trailed across his skin as the final buttons were undone, and his shirt was discarded to the floor. Pulled away from the door, one of Andrés’ hands cupped the back of his head, the other exploring the new canvas available to him. His weak, high-pitched whimper left him quivering against Andrés, arms snaked around the other man’s waist as they stumbled further back into the house.  
  
“Don’t think we’re doing this on your sofa. Certainly, you can do better than that.” He tilted his head towards the stairs, the grueling work of pulling off each other long enough to climb the steps only worth it as the suggestion tore a demanding grunt from Andrés. 

“_Hurry _ up or it won’t happen at all,” he chided, one last kiss placed against Martín’s bottom lip.  
  
He stopped on the first step, tapping at his ear first when Martín’s legs took a moment too long to respond. Without looking back over his shoulder, his finger curled in Martín’s direction, commanding him again to follow. Finally, he threw himself forward, surprised when his arms only wrapped around the other man’s waist instead of scooping him up into his arms. He kissed the base of Andrés’ head, little grazes of nails against the satin of his shirt. The deep hum that followed threatened to send him flat against the stairs, eagerly trying to pick up speed. They reached the top of the stairs almost in a tumble, and Martín began to reconsider the rest of the distance to the massive bedroom behind the closed door at the end of the hall. Obstacle after obstacle was wearing him pitifully thin. _ Perhaps the wall is just as good_, he thought, twisting a proud Andrés in his arms. The other man refused his kiss but left behind pleasing scratches against the muscles of his back. Stumbling backwards down the hall, both refusing to let go of the other, Martín wasn’t sure just how they’d made it to the large bed in the center of Andrés’ room. Hungry lips fell back onto his, freedom to run wild and untamed into the night _ finally _ granted.  
  
Golden rays of sun poked through the night sky, bringing in streaks of orange as the sun began to rise. The cascading stream of water falling from the larger pool into the fixture below, of which Martín knew served no purpose beyond aesthetics, was the only sound breaking the stillness of the morning. It was still hard to believe everything had led to the night before, when only a few days ago it had still seemed so far out of reach. The beautiful man he had fallen for was his alone for the taking, and _ oh_, how they had made the most of it. 

He yawned, the few hours of sleep they'd managed hardly enough to give him any sense of strength. If he had any faith in himself, he might have slipped downstairs and attempted to use whatever means Andrés had of making coffee, but he wasn't going to start their morning by breaking things in his house. Though, as he felt the gentle press of soft lips against the curve of his bare shoulder blade, perhaps caffeine wouldn't be needed. Strong, lean arms wrapped around his waist, drawing him in closer as he willingly melted against him. "Good morning," he hummed, hands coming to rest over Andrés' wrists.  
  
Lazy kisses colored his shoulder as Andrés silently returned his greeting. Each chaste kiss lingered just a few seconds longer than the last, making him tremble with each tender embrace. His thumb stroked the back of Andrés’ right hand, as a proud smile pressed against his pillow at the sound of Andrés’ carefree chuckle. “Good morning,” he finally repeated, words muffled with his thin lips still pressed against him. Martín’s fingers moved to trace the faint blue lines of the veins on his hands pausing only when he felt Andrés’ mouth move to fall just behind his ear, the husky voice with which he whispered, “ _ Martín_,” designed purposely to make his heart flutter.  
  


His chin fell onto the place between his neck and shoulder, securing them together with as little space as possible. As much as he enjoyed the warm kisses left lingering on his skin, having Andrés latched around him meant infinitely more. Part of the dark cotton sheets pooled around them, weaving between their interlocked legs. The breezy summer air broke through the cracked open door, making a shiver creep down his body. Almost automatically, Andrés picked up the discarded duvet, draping it over him quickly before working to soothe away Martín’s goosebumps with the palm of his hand. He twisted in Andrés’ arms, no longer able to keep his eyes fixated on the bare white wall across from his. Dark brown eyes softened in the early light of morning, the creases of lines around his face aiding the brightness he radiated. Two fingers fell below Andrés’ chin, pulling him closer until Martín could place a fleeting kiss against his pale lips. His heart swelled at the continued silent permission to do whatever he wanted, their bond deepening between them with each moment they spent wrapped together in bed.  
  


Bold reds would have been used to capture their embraces last night, but the dusty pinks and peaches of the morning sky fit the scene between them now. Andrés’ fingers threaded through his hair, careful movements grazing his nails over Martín’s scalp. For all the longing he’d had through the past few months, it still seemed so improbable to be entirely surrounded by Andrés now. With a subtle stiff of his back, he couldn’t help but wonder if he might be pushed away in the light of day like he had in Berlin. But as though he could read his thoughts, Andrés’ other hand reassuringly circled around his wrist. His hand moved away from his side until innocent lips were planted against the center of his palm, one right after the other muting the breath in his throat. Remaining doubts threatening his happiness were being whisked away in the movements, eyelids blinking closed with the rhythmic beating of his heart. Each held the weight of a thousand weaker words as Andrés lingered on the steadied thumping of his pulse. Clear brown eyes looked up at him under relaxed brows, creating a new mutual understanding as he stared back at Andrés. Long had it been for both of them that attraction dissolved into drops of devotion. Resonant vows now coiled around Martín like the warming sun, the promise of time to discover what they could become communicated effortlessly between them.  
  
His lips fell right above Andrés’ shoulder, slowly peppering kisses with wet lips. Martín smirked against warm skin as he was met again with the same deep, quick breaths he’d drawn late into the night. His finger traced up Andrés’ side, and judging by the way he pulled Martín closer, the movement must have been agonizingly slow. Still, he kept kissing along the curve of his collarbone, curving his mouth to move up his neck. “Andrés?”  
  
Fingers tugged at his hair, the other hand flat in the small of his back. “ _ Yes _ ?”  
  
He pulled away, just enough to be able to look at him with wide eyes. “I think you should go make me breakfast.” Martín started to pull away to be met with Andrés’ hand clutching his shoulder. A rather whiny, displeased groan escaped him in his protest as Martín tried to playfully flick his hand away.  
  
“Shouldn’t it be _ your _ turn?”  
  
“Absolutely. Which box of cereal would you like me to open?” Andrés released his hold then, knocking him onto his back on the other side of the bed. His face lit up with immature amusement as he propped himself up on his elbow, making Martín wonder if Andrés was equally as likely to roll his eyes as he was to kiss him again.

“You’re insufferable,” he mused.  
  
Lips pecked his cheek and Martín smirked as he finally moved to get out of the bed. Nagging disappointment poked at him then, already missing the feeling of Andrés draped around him. But, he just couldn’t bring himself to admit it, admiring him all the same from the short distance. “I hope you have a _ sexy little chef _ ’s outfit ready to put on before you bring my food back.”  
  
"I am happy to cook for you, but you're out of your mind if you think you're eating in my bed."  
  
Before he could respond, a ball made from red joggers hit him square in the face. With a _ humph _ , he removed the crumpled pants from his face holding them back up towards Andrés. His nose scrunched up as he asked, "Are these really necessary? You definitely didn’t seem to be so modest before."  
  
This time, his comment earned a decisive, exaggerated eye roll. "You're more than welcome to try walking around my house how you look now, but I think I'll get too distracted to make anything for you."  
  
“Maybe I want to be your distraction.”  
  
With a newly clothed Andrés circling back around the bed towards the door, he lunged forward just enough to snatch him back into his arms. They fell back onto the bed, Andrés landing face to face with him. His hands planted on either side of Martín’s head, a smile bright enough it stood a chance at blinding him if he looked directly at him for too long. This cheery version of Andrés was his favorite so far, and he knew he’d do everything he could to keep making him this happy.  
  
He grinned, chasing Andrés’ lips in a sweet kiss. For all the food the other man probably knew how to make, Martín already knew nothing could be better than this. His traitorous stomach growled then, and he grumbled at his own damned internal persistence. There were certainly more enjoyable things to be done than to step away. Andrés’ laugh tickled his ears, a hand moving to rub his impatient stomach. “Later,” he promised, gripping Martín’s hand to pull him out of the bed with him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well.... how about that ;) 
> 
> The slow burn is over.


	21. The Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! Sorry about my little hiatus. I took a little time off in light of recent world events to try and focus on more important things, my own mental health, the well-being of friends, and my upcoming trans-Atlantic move. But, here we are with a nice fluffy chapter I am sure everyone is in need of! 
> 
> I might even count it as one of my Berlermo Bingo circles. 
> 
> Anyway, happy Friday! :)

In another life, Martín noted, Andrés should have been confined to a magnificent kitchen. A clean apron was tied around his waist, a collection of bowls and a variety of ingredients in front of him as he started to prepare their morning meal. He should probably have started taking notes from the time the first egg was cracked perfectly in the center, but he was too busy watching the way Andrés’ hands moved graciously. He chopped the spinach quickly, each line with precision while maintaining the established shape and size he wanted. There was a certain level of neuroticism in the job, but Martín couldn’t bring himself to comment even in jest about it. While carefully measured spices tickled the back of his throat when he took an inward breath, the morning light brought in new realizations. For starters, there wouldn’t be any going back from the blurred lines of their relationship. Andrés was still his boss, and he was obligated to the company under the contract. He had no intent for backing out of that now, but he knew the possibility for complications had just gone up. The half of his brain still clouded by passionate kisses, the same part of him enjoying watching Andrés placing things into one of the bowls and mixing up the food for him, wanted to avoid any unpleasant conversations about what this meant for them going forward. He no longer doubted the shared feelings between the two of them, but that didn’t mean he was less aware of the unique situation he found himself in. Any employer he’d had before only ever went so far as to shake his hand or leave a little year end bonuses for him. He’d definitely never left kisses on soft skin painted like an open canvas in the moonlight, and treated to a fancy, savory breakfast the next morning.  
  
Self-preservation kicked in, picking up his heart rate as he thought about the implications of _ sleeping with the big boss _ . His career might be derailed in the wake, built on accusations he’d slept his way into the good graces of everyone around him. Between hints dropped by Denver and comments Andrés had made, he already knew people had tried to manipulate favors out of the brilliant man in front of him. He never had any desire to be one of them, and even the idea of other people’s assumptions made him uneasy. While all of it had to be taken into consideration, he also had no desire to hide their budding relationship from anyone. He was fine with taking more time than he normally would with going out into the public eye, already knowing it might not be the only time he would have to make changes in his life as his career as musician picked up traction. The delicate balancing act mattered to him in ensuring he was able to keep an untarnished public image and the company of the man he cherished.  
  
He shook the worry from his head, watching as Andrés sauteed vegetables over a low heat on the stove top. Avoiding the gaze of concentrated eyes, his fingers dipped into the small bowl holding the carefully measured portion of crumbled cheese. He wasn’t fast enough, and a hand caught around his wrist. “There are no thieves in my kitchen, Martín,” Andrés scolded, free hand still moving the spatula and eyes still not focusing on him.  
  
“It’s all for me anyway, isn’t it? Does it matter how I eat it?” He wiggled his eyebrow, leaning his head forward enough to pop the cheese into his mouth. Andrés’ thumb rubbed fondly along the bone of his wrist, hardly able to keep up the frustrated pretenses.  
  
“Are you always going to be this frustrating when it comes to feeding you? I really would prefer not to have to buy—” he paused, making Martín snort from the way he shuddered dramatically, “—frozen meals because you are impatient.”  
  
“No, it would destroy the view,” he replied, eyes tracing down from the top of Andrés’ head, hairs in disarray from sleep, to the lean muscles he knew were hidden behind the relaxed shirt. “I can be patient,” he added, crossing his fingers over his chest. His proud grin turned to something sweeter as he noticed Andrés looking up at him even with his head still bowed down over the skillet.  
  
“I appreciate your grandiose sacrifice while _ I _ cook _ your _ breakfast,” he retorted with a shake of his head, moving onto the next step as he cooked.  
  
In the shelter of Andrés’ closed off home, Martín didn’t hesitate to rise from his seat. He circled around the counter, light on his feet as he walked. His arms quickly found residence, circled around Andrés’ waist as his bare chest pressed against the other man’s back. When he made no attempt to shake the hug away, Martín leaned closer observing him from over his shoulder now. “When breakfast is done, I’ll show you how to tickle the ivories. A deal is a deal after all.”  
  
Andrés looked at him from the corner of his eye, combining the ingredients into the cast iron skillet. His lip tugged up, flirtatious enough without words needing to follow. Yet again, Martín found himself wishing he could care about the childish amount of butterflies fluttering in his stomach when he was being looked at like that. It was too endearing to know it was reserved for him, and if Andrés got triumphant satisfaction out of the blush pooled in his cheeks, it was a price he was willing to pay. But, if he could have turned him around in his arms without being scolded for running some part of their meal, he knew he would kiss him senseless until the morning got carried away into something else.  
  
“Find something worth spending the entire day here for? Last night, you seemed rather eager to leave. I’d hate to keep you from any prior engagements.”  
  
“I can think of something,” he hummed.  
  
“Care to enlighten me, cariño?” It was Martín’s turn to roll his eyes then, hand falling flat to cup the back of Andrés’ head. With a gentle turn, their noses bumped together in a light nuzzle, lips grazing lazily. Without any strenuous effort made by either of them, Martín noted the patterned domesticality they were already falling into. Wandering thoughts ran away again to how easier it might be if they didn’t have their professional relationship to consider. He knew it was only a matter of time before the first challenge presented itself and it felt reckless not to address it head on. All the same, he swatted those warnings away, trusting in their ability to cross that bridge when they got there. For now, all that mattered were sweet kisses against his cheek, and the savory scent of the frittata Andrés had prepared.  
  
Fingers tapped his jaw before pointing to the empty plates on the counter. Obediently, arms released from around Andrés’ waist and moved towards assisting in final preparations.  
  
Try as he might, Martín found himself unable to put down his fork for very long. From behind his tea cup, Andrés watched him between mindful bites of his own. Somewhere between the walk from behind the kitchen counter to opposite sides of the table, all he could think about was the proximity their piano lesson would bring. The warmth of having Andrés by his side kept calling back to him like an open flame, silently beckoning to him to touch yet again. He stabbed his fork into his final bite, popping it into his mouth all too ready to jump to his feet.  
  
“Going somewhere?” Andrés asked, placing down his cup. Amusement was etched on his face in the way his lip curled crooked, little laugh lines around his face highlighted with it.  
  
“We had a lesson,” he replied, standing tall as he extended his open palm to Andrés. “I don’t take kindly to tardiness.”  
  
Andrés placed his own empty plate in Martín’s awaiting hand, making his brow furrow, creating tiny creases along his forehead. “I wouldn’t expect any less. But there are dishes to be done first, Martín,” came the offered explanation with a shrug. “I cook, you clean.”  
  
Martín puffed his bottom lip, picking up the used dishes from the table as he was instructed. “Don’t get used to me playing your maid.”  
  
“I wouldn’t dream of it. I have seen the state you keep your own accommodations in,” he mocked, adding a quick wink.   
  
“You came on a bad day,” a playful tone lightening his defensive words. He placed the dishes into the sink, turning on the water to rinse off the plates.  
  
Andrés twisted in his chair, arm hanging over the back as he nodded in reply. “Had a tornado recently been localized to hitting just your apartment? I could understand the disarray if that were the case.” Martín’s hand grasped the faucet hose, aiming the stream of water at him from across the short distance. It barely sprayed across the counter, and Andrés merely blinked in return. “And now you plan on starting a hurricane in my home?”  
  
“ _ Malparido, _ I’d invite a tsunami if it’d get you to stop giving me a hard time about a few untidy things making my house look lived in.” Andrés’ face fell in response for just a moment, but it was enough time for Martín to pick up on the line his well-intended banter had crossed. The quick irrepressible frown hadn’t been missed, even as Andrés tried to brush it under the rug. He didn’t intend to insult and place a damper on their enjoyable morning, and in his defense he couldn’t have known what he said would serve more as a trigger. He placed the dishes on the drying rack, making his way back over to wrap his hands around Andrés’ wrists casually, pulling him to his feet. Thumbs stroked the sensible skin underneath, before he was leading them back into the main room towards the piano.  
  
“It’s a little tricker without a beginner’s book, but you’re in luck. I’ve had years of experience,” he said, pulling the plush piano bench back to make room for them to sit. He gestured to the center for Andrés to sit, before removing the black felt key cover. With Andrés in the center, he took his own place to the side, knees knocking against the others’ to ensure he had enough room to avoid falling off the bench himself.   
  
Andrés tapped a few of the newly exposed keys, the resonating notes a random arrangement that to an untrained ear would be a pleasing enough song. Martín took control of one of Andrés’ hands, swiping it down from left to right. The octaves moved from higher to lower as they did. “I think I can handle a more advanced lesson, Martín.” He took notice that wistful brown eyes had softened again, now colored by flecks of hazel in this angle. He tilted his head forward,  
  
“The goal is usually to be able to produce chords you can sing along to, which requires understanding how the arrangements work together.” Without breaking eye contact, his left hand floated over the keys, playing a small demonstration. He wanted to smack himself for the choice he defaulted to out of instinct, not quite ready to reveal the true meaning behind that particular song. There was a pale pink tinting Andrés’ cheeks now as he, too, recognized the song adding to the conversation they hadn’t completed back in Berlin. He pulled his hand away from the keys, replacing it with Andrés’ once again. “We’ll start with something simpler.”  
  
“I prefer a challenge. Teach me that one.”  
  
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Martín mumbled, pulling back to the point where they were no longer touching. His best gift he could give Andrés would always be his song, but it also filled him with an unreasonable amount of dread. The luxuries life had to offer, Andrés was more than capable of purchasing for himself. It was an immature fear sneaking past his defenses, reminding him that he’d often had little to offer anyone. His talents had gotten him to where he was now, spending the day with the man he adored, gifting him the precious opportunity to get to know him better. If revealed too quickly, he knew the magic of their relationship could dwindle as quickly as it began.  
  
It was Andrés’ turn to reassuringly run his fingers in soothing motions, running down the veins on the back of Martín’s hand. Doubts didn’t stand a chance in staying in his head with the way a calming shiver crept down his spine, goosebumps rising on his arm. Against his wishes, Andrés’ other hand tried to mimic the chords Martín had just played from memory. He was impressed with the way he only missed one or two notes, though it should have come as much surprise that Andrés would be a quick study.  
  
Reluctantly, he played another set of chords, dragging each movement out to make it easier for Andrés to follow along. Repetitious notes made it easier to learn, but fingers had to stay light and lively in order to keep from lagging behind where the song should be. This time as he moved aside to let Andrés play, he had to stifle a laugh when he made a few more mistakes than his first attempt. The little vein in his forehead clenched slightly as he tried to drown out Martín’s chuckle, but missed the correct note once again. A mischievous glimmer reflected in his eyes then, taking a moment before he tried to shift their interaction back into his control. 

_ Every little thing he does is magic  
_ _ Every thing he does just turns me on  
_ _ Even though my life before was tragic  
_ _ Now, I know my love for him goes on _  
  
His breath caught in his throat as familiar words were sung to him. Andrés pulled his hands away, voice hushed as if waiting for the cue to stop. Instead, Martín’s hands found the correct keys on the piano, picking up the timing with the lyrics he’d written. He hid the minute tooth grin with a bow of his head, focusing on producing music with Andrés.  
  
_ Do I have to tell the story  
_ _ Of a thousand rainy days  
_ _ Since we first met?  
_ _ It's a big enough umbrella  
_ _ But it's always me that ends up getting wet _ _  
_ _  
_ Perhaps writing love songs for the man he’d grown attached to before they’d even started dating really wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever done. Andrés knew every word, committed to the delivery of each line with just as much tender care as Martín always strived for. It was easy to estimate how many songs Andrés probably listened to in a week, a month, even a year. Still, he was devoted to Martín’s as though he was yet another fan. It was the best honor he could be extended as a musician, and his concerns started to drift away again. It was stupid to start finding him so intimidating now, when he never really had before. They could make it work, even if it was going to be tricky maneuvering all the right steps. But as he continued to play, Andrés still not missing a single lyric, the fact he might be willing to sacrifice his career to keep this man also started to plant in his head.  
  
As he drifted to an end, Andrés picked up one of his hands to place a fleeting kiss against his knuckles. “I—think you—tricked me out of giving you a real lesson,” he stammered as adoring touches lingered against his skin. It really was unfair the amount of control this man had over him with the most basic of movements, but he’d never have the ability to pull his hand away.  
  
“I decided I’d rather listen to you,” Andrés shrugged. “I don’t need to know how to play, so long as I keep you here with me.”  
  
Martín hated how heated his cheeks got, certain his face was probably growing closer to a beet red than the pale blush Andrés had had only moments before. “You’re just saying that because the piano got the better of you,” he blurted out, a little bead of sweat tickling his cupid’s bow.  
  
“Did it?” Andrés crooned, walking his fingers across the exposed skin just under Martín’s collarbone, too smug for his liking. His forehead caressed Martín’s, hand moving up to rest under the curve of his jaw. “Or did I just have a private performance from _ Fonollosa Record’s _ best rising talent?”  
  
“You sang—” Another deep kiss parted his lips, his objections halted before he could continue their conversation. He couldn’t tell if teeth knocking as noses brushed was caused by his own clumsy movements or Andrés’, but it was endearing and sincere. He peeked his eyes to take a look at the open, inviting sofa, and might have dragged them both over there to continue the kiss if not for the sudden, urgent knock at the door. It got louder as Andrés continued to ignore it, opting instead to massage the back of Martín’s head. “Aren’t you—going to—get that?” He murmured against Andrés’ thin lips.  
  
Another peck was left against his mouth as Andrés rolled his eyes, dragging himself off the bench without any sense of urgency. He walked backwards, eyes still trailing over Martín as he continued to subject whoever felt the need to interrupt their slothful morning to no answer or indication he was even coming to the door. Martín waved his hands out in front of him, trying to encourage his pace so they might be left alone to their solitude once again. It only made Andrés slow in turn, blowing a kiss back at him.  
  
“Coming!” He finally answered as whoever waited on the other side opted for ringing the doorbell instead of continuing their unanswered knocking. Andrés picked up the pace cracking opening his front door. The almost irked scowl on his face immediately faded as he opened the door more, and Martín could see the hints of confusion mixed with concern. “Raquel? What’s going on?”  
  
“I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t an emergency. You didn’t pick up your phone but I really need you to—oh,” she paused, clicking her tongue as she must have spoked him in her peripheral vision. Martín awkwardly raised his hand in a wave, trying to avert his gaze from the private conversation. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”  
  
Andrés ignored her apology, seeming to look behind her at someone else. “I thought you didn’t have Paula this weekend? What happened?” He opened the door more, his hand reassuringly rubbing her arm as he allowed her room to step inside. She was followed closely by a girl who couldn’t be older than ten, clutching a purple duffle bag around her shoulder. Even from here, he could see the way her eyes glistened with little tears, lip quivering. Raquel was paler than he remembered, eyes heavy from exhaustion. It seemed a private family matter, and he shifted trying to decide if it would be best to wait it out upstairs.  
  
“Sergio had to take my mother to the hospital—I guess she had a fall. I was on my way there when Paula called—Alberto refused to take her to her football match—he said it’s not good for Laura and the baby to be out in the sun. She wanted me to—pick her up. But—I can’t take her—to the match or with me.”  
  
Martín finally stood to take himself out earshot, only to find his path blocked off by Paula. The young girl held her head tilted almost all of the way back, tears stopped as she became occupied by trying to figure out his presence instead. He glanced at Andrés, who was too understandably focused on calming down his sister-in-law to aid him in his new predicament.  
  
“I’m Paula,” she sniffed, wiping her tear stained face with the sleeve of her shirt. She extended her hand politely, and he took a knee to lower to her height as he shook it.  
  
“Hello, Paula. I’m Martín.” Her head craned to the left, pieces of a puzzle he couldn’t see seeming to come together in her head. “I’m friends with your Tío.”  
  
She nodded. “Did you have a sleepover? But why didn’t you bring your own pajamas?” Martín had to swallow the hard cackle building from the innocence in her question, knowing nothing could have prepared him for this turn of events. He glanced back at the other adults in the room, wondering if they had heard what she said. Andrés was heading towards the kitchen, no doubt to get something for Raquel to drink to help her calm enough to be able to drive. Her hands were clutching at her hair, elbows propped up on her knees as she swayed in her seat. Looking back at Paula, he knew he’d have to make his way upstairs to borrow one of Andrés’ shirts, but he could at least try to be of use by occupying his niece.  
  
“Paula, do you have your own football?” He asked. When she nodded, the last of her frown quickly turning upright as her eyes sparkled with excitement, he offered her a friendly smile of his own. “I think your mama needs a moment alone with your Tío, but I’ll play outside with you if you want.”  
  
She threw the bag down where she stood, quickly unzipping it to take out the round ball. “You will?”  
  
“Of course. Give me just one minute, okay?” When he heard her okay, he quickly made his way for the stairs. As invasive as it felt to shift through Andrés’ dresser, it was at least better than the alternative of continuing to listen to important family matters being discussed. He knew it wasn’t his place, and if it hadn’t been for the offer to go outside with Paula, he might have called a car and waited out front until he could be picked up. He threw on the first basic shirt he could find, making his way back downstairs as quickly as he’d come.  
  
Andrés was back to sitting on the sofa next to Raquel, his hand running flat down her back. He picked up on the way her sobs seemed caught in her throat, and he assumed it was just as much her need to calm down so she could leave again as it was trying not to make a spectacle to worry her daughter. When he came back into Paula’s view, she bounced from toe to toe, a shining grin on her face. She had her ball in her hands, eagerly following him towards the back door. He left it cracked, hoping it would be indication enough of where they’d gone.  
  
“How long have you been playing football?” He asked, glad he’d grabbed a pair of socks out of habit from one of Andrés’ drawers. It would have to do without having proper shoes to play in, but at least he stood a better chance at not accidentally hurting himself.  
  
“Two years. I’m a defender!”  
  
“Oh yeah? I used to play forward. I got all the goals,” he said, watching as she dribbled the ball in front of her.  
  
She put her hands on her hips, a familiar confidence looking back at him. Even without a blood relation, Martín could see little familial traits shared between her and Andrés. He made a note to jokingly caution him against rubbing off too much of his personality on his sweetheart of a niece, who was now poking her tongue out at him. “I bet I could stop you.”  
  
“I don’t think so.” He took the moment to extend his leg, rolling the ball away from the middle of her feet. He jogged to the left, looking between two trees a short distance away. To his side, Paula ran after him, swinging her arms as she tried to make her move to get the ball back. As he pointed to the makeshift goal ahead, he shouted, “I’m going to score right there and you’ll lose.”  
  
“No you won’t,” she screamed, eagerly as she picked up her speed. He had to jump to avoid tripping over her as her shorter leg stuck out, kicking the ball back towards the house. He threw his head back panting dramatically, watching as she took off without him. He took a few steps forward, moving in an exaggerated run as he tried to catch up again. Upon reaching the ball before he came anywhere close, Paula turned around and resumed practicing her dribbling.  
  
“I’ll get that ball back,” he cheered, picking up his pace when her eyes narrowed in his direction. When he got close, she kicked it past him once again and took off to her right. He took a staged tumble, rolling to a stop on his back. He pulled his knee into his chest, sitting up in a crunch as he rocked back and forth. “ _ Penalty!” _  
  
“Nuh-uh! You did that, it wasn’t me!” She jeered. He ignored her, continuing his whaling as he rocked.  
  
“You pushed me!”  
  
His head rolled back as a shadow blocked him from the sun, a happy smile on his face as he looked up at Andrés. “I think you’re trying to cheat, Martín. She wasn’t anywhere close to you.” He extended his arm out, helping to pull him back to his feet.  
  
“There’s no way you saw what happened,” he stated, pulling himself up from the ground with Andrés’ help. “That or you’re just picking her side because she’s your favorite.”  
  
“I am not! You’re the friend he missed on holiday. I know. He’s smiling now!” Paula shouted back, running between the two of them still kicking her ball. Martín coughed, taken back as Andrés’ cheeks finally turned as red as his own usually did, the unexpected call-out from his niece more than he’d bargained for. He was humble enough to look away, taking a step back as he brushed grass off of himself.  
  
Andrés placed his hand on his niece’s shoulder, wagging a finger just in front of her face. “You’re not very good at keeping secrets, Paulita.”  
  
“That’s not true, Tío! I didn’t tell mama or Sergio,” she huffed, scrunching her nose as she stood her ground. This was not the entertainment he thought he’d get from the day, but it was shaping up to be just as good.  
  
“Go get your bag ready, I’ll take you to your match,” he said, ushering her towards the door. When she followed his instructions, tucking the ball under her arm, Andrés’ attention finally turned back to Martín. “I’ll have to call Matías to take you home. I apologize, Martín.”  
  
“No need. I understand.” He waved his hand as they turned back towards the house. “You’ll have to make up for it later though.” His attempt at a wink failed as both eyes tried to move at the same time, and it was enough to hear Andrés laugh in response.  
  
“Can’t he come too, Tío! You can both be my cheerleaders!” Paula begged, turning on her heel to face both of them.  
  
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, cari ñ a. Maybe next time,” he compromised. Martín tried not to deflate at the comment, knowing this was what he had anticipated would come. It was probably more than Andrés had been ready for already. Even with Raquel’s mind racing, she’d noticed him there, without a shirt on no less. She was smart enough to put the pieces together and would no doubt have opinions about them. Even if she and Sergio were supportive, the decision to let his family know had been taken out of Andrés’ control. He couldn’t fault him for being ready for Martín to go. They’d both need more time to adjust to their relationship being known before it had even been defined.  
  
“Por favor Tío , _ por favor, _ ” she whined.  
  
Martín spoke up before Andrés could, mindful of the way he looked as though his next words might come out harsher than he intended. “Paula, I have to go home to get some work done. Another time, I promise.”  
  
“All you adults ever do is work.” The switch from immature whining became something he recognized all too well then, making him stop in his tracks. He chewed on his bottom lip, trying to keep his initial reaction to try and get Andrés to change his mind to himself. It was hardly his place to make such decisions, even if empathy had overcome him.  
  
“Do you want to go, Martín?” He hadn’t noticed that Andrés had stopped, just a few inches ahead of him until he heard his name at the end of the question. He still looked uncomfortable with the idea, but it was being pushed aside in his niece’s best interest. Something in his eyes stood out to Martín, a mutual understanding resonating wordlessly between them. They had only briefly spoken of their pasts, but Andrés must have known something of the same pains Martín did.  
  
His answer of, “I’d be happy too,” made Paula squeal as she ran inside, drowning out her excitement as she said something about needing a drink. Martín followed Andrés quietly debating if he shouldn’t speak up and actually ensure this was a good idea. They could act cordially in public, he knew, but it still seemed more an overstep in boundaries than the other man might be ready for. Paparazzi wouldn’t be swarming the children’s sporting fields, but that wasn’t the only thing to be concerned about. Still, he had to hope Andrés was comfortable being friendly with him in public to start with. There couldn’t be much harm in that.  
  
From inside the house, Paula shouted at them to hurry up. He lightly squeezed Andrés’ hand as he passed by him. “You’re slow, old man,” he teased, rushing for the house. From over his shoulder, he saw the last of Andrés’ relaxed smile, rolling his eyes at the pair of them.  
  
“Slow and steady wins the race,” he corrected. “Paula, wait down here while we go change out of our pajamas.”  
  
“Do you have an extra cheerleading dress I can borrow?” He wagged his eyebrow, making Paula giggle.  
  
“Unfortunately, team colors will have to do.” His hand fondly held Martín’s, looking more relaxed once again as his niece lit up. It would be hard to tell she’d arrived so upset only a half hour ago. The silent thank you was written in the way Andrés’ thumb rubbed the inside of his palm, taking a moment for one last embrace before they left the bubble of his house.


	22. Album Art

He threw his pillow over his face as the sharp alarm went off, breaking him from pleasant dreams of reliving the weekend’s events. Paula’s football game had gone without incident, and shortly after he’d been taken home. Andrés had made good on his promise, short messages sent when he had a spare moment. He’d insisted they weren’t necessary, completely understanding of the fact Paula and his family needed his full attention. Andrés had pecked his cheek after turning his head to ensure his niece was still napping in the back seat, before he’d left Martín behind. No more than an hour later, the text messages had begun. Most of the messages were pretty short, but it still felt good whenever he looked down at his phone to the undeniable proof he occupied space in Andrés’ mind. He’d fallen asleep in the middle of a brief conversation informing him Paula had finally gone home earlier that evening, Raquel and Sergio having been able to bring her mother back home. He’d wished them his best, plugging his phone in as he settled into his empty bed. The mattress had squeaked when he put his weight on it, the springs underneath the bed old and taunting. It was easy to miss the thick padding of Andrés’ bed, now christened to the start of their affair. He’d pulled his phone back into his hands, typing out a quick message about missing the other man’s company, but ultimately decided against hitting send. The same thing bothering him last night was the reason he still groaned into his pillow, ignoring the fact he needed to be in the middle of a morning shower.  
  
This would be the first time he’d seen Sergio since things had drastically changed between him and Andrés in Berlin, and it left his stomach in one big knot. It would have been hard enough to look his agent in the eye, still uncertain if he had picked up on the less than subtle hints about his muses. But, Raquel had caught him in Andrés’ house without a shirt on, first thing in the morning, on a Sunday. Someone far less intelligent would have been able to pick up the obvious clues and pieced them together with ease. Even distressed, Raquel knew what had gone on between the two of them. There was the slightest chance it might have escaped her mind to inform her partner, but he couldn’t seek any comfort in it. Even if she hadn’t spoken up about what had gone on, he knew he owed it to Sergio to be honest if he was asked about the music. The rest would probably follow just as easily, because he wouldn’t be able to keep his damned mouth shut. He hadn’t followed up with Denver about how the date had gone, knowing there were still boundaries to define before he could talk about it so casually. But, Sergio represented the professional side of their relationship solely now and he owed it to himself not to damage his career over his relationship.  
  
He didn’t regret what had happened, not for a second. A heavy sigh escaped him anyway, knowing he’d committed himself foolishly to the idea of not pursuing this relationship. While having Andrés in his arms, able to steal kisses and tender touches meant infinitely more to him, he cared for maintaining a good professional relationship with his agent. He owed Sergio for more than his career, knowing there was nothing else that would have led to him crossing paths with Andrés. He could already see piles of paperwork made from different disclosures he would have to sign. The idea of entering another contract weighed heavy on his shoulders. Legal jargon had little place in romance but that was never going to be the case with _ dating _ Andrés. Binding terms and conditions in dark ink on the recording contract sitting in his desk had asked him to sign away a lot of his control. That wouldn’t work. With time, they might stand a chance at moving away from lawyers having a sway in how things unfolded between them, but that required patience.  
  
He’d entertained the idea of something coming from his infatuation, but he hadn’t planned on it becoming his reality. Andrés had given him huge signs the interest may be mutual, only to pull away again when things really started. It hadn’t been until Berlin that they’d really started to become something more, and his head had gotten swept up in the rush of it. There was no denying just how good it felt to be a focal point in Andrés’ life. Martín’s _ muse _ was just as doting as he was, doing far above and beyond on a first date than he had ever been treated to in month’s long relationships. If he let his mind wander long enough, he could still feel warm kisses exploring his skin, marking and appreciating every part of him. In the bright light of morning, still encompassed by Andrés’ company and affection, it seemed all that mattered. He would have given anything to get to stay there, nothing standing as a hurdle to pursuing it further.  
  
Back in the comfort of his own home, though, he knew his career meant just as much to him. A few guitar picks were spread around his room, years of writing his own songs or playing covers buried in these walls. Somewhere, he still had a few old photographs littered among his possessions, time spent playing at trashy bars or a couple of old head shots. In the other room and on the lock screen of his phone, though, were reminders of the start of something with Andrés. He didn’t know how they would be able to move forward without complications, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t willing to work through them. He threw his legs over the side of the bed, forcing himself to sit up tall. He stretched his arms behind his back, releasing one last yawn. They hadn’t even discussed the opportunity for a second date, and while Andrés seemed just as happy with the events of the first as he was, there was no timeline for when they would be around each other once more. There was much they would have to figure out, but it wasn’t worth panicking about just yet.  
  
Instead, he focused on his upcoming conversation with Sergio. The demos they’d prepared were ready to be released digitally for now, and it was time for the next step in looking over cover art. The small collection of five songs, all stemming from similar roots and therefore working well together on the album, spoke to just how far he’d come. His music had improved in recent weeks, easier to come up with at least some of the key ideas he wanted to use, and even on the car ride to the studio his fingers had been twitching to reach for the black book. Driving had commanded his attention, forcing him instead to tap along to the steering wheel. His ideas were nothing concrete yet, but the sparkle in brown eyes he’d spent the weekend staring into demanded yet another melody written in their honor. All he really wanted to do was throw himself back into that large bed, arms wrapped securely around Andrés’ slim waist, and hum little songs only meant for him outside of the demanding working context of his music. The words in his head were all currently nonsense anyway, but he knew he could still draw a smile from those pale pink lips all the same.  
  
He walked into the office in a saunter, summoning his natural confidence as he walked past Mónica’s empty desk, a little sign displayed to show she was currently out to lunch. No doubt, he'd luckily just missed his friend who would only make things difficult. Sergio was expecting him anyway, and it didn’t do him any good to drag his feet. If he acted like there wasn’t something important to discuss, they might be able to avoid the subject of his brother until their work was completed. That was a far-fetched dream, built on total farces, he recognized just as easily as he did the man sitting opposite Sergio at his desk. Without warning, Andrés turned to look at him, and with the trick of the light Martín might have sworn there was an uncharacteristic little twinkle in his eyes, almost telling of a new kind of intimacy he’d yet to experience. His palms went clammy at the idea, his continued hopeless romanticism building more and more by the second.  
  
“Good morning, _ Martín,” _ his voice shamelessly dragging out his name as though he knew he had nothing left to hide. Martín averted his eyes under the immediate weight of Sergio’s gaze, no doubt judging and annoyed in equal parts.  
  
“We’ll finish our discussion later, Andrés. I have an appointment to pick out album covers and you’re not really needed for that,” Sergio said, and even from the corner of his eye he could see the younger brother rubbing at his right temple. The gesture was less of one to take any offense from, and more like something he might expect coming from the familial relationship between them. At least he stood a chance at Sergio being less frustrated with him, given his own personal relationship.  
  
His eyes flicked back to Andrés, the soft lines of makeup coming into view now. It was just enough to accent his already masterful features, accentuating his cheek bones and leaving his eyelashes looking longer. The lapels of his navy blue napoli suit were larger than his normal selections, but looked no less elegant than he normally did. As he stood, Martín noticed how the looser fit still hugged his waist with the buttons done. He’d willingly admit he liked this view just as much as he liked having the expense of skin that lied cover underneath. Now certainly wasn’t the time to be thinking like that, but the weekend was still too fresh on his mind.  
  
“I might need his opinion,” he chirped, giving Sergio a playful smile.  
  
“I can promise you, I am more than capable of doing my job, Martín,” Sergio replied. There was an obvious lack of animosity in his tone, but just a hint of annoyance colored his words. He’d already pressed his limits, and he knew better than to try again. “Andrés has a photo shoot for _ Mix _ . Unfortunately, he really cannot join us.”  
  
“Obligations, obligations, obligations,” Andrés droned, soothing out the front of his pants. He turned towards his brother displaying his best professional front, as if looking for the thumbs up to leave the room. It was a nice reminder of the trust he held, allowed to not only share his own playful moments, but also to be privy to the ones Andrés shared with his brother.   
  
He still wasn’t sure just where the boundaries lied, though. “You’ll be missed then. But I doubt you’d miss the publicity of being on the front cover. That doesn’t sound like you,” Martín whispered, trying to show his awareness of the other party in the room, even as he added a wink at the end of his statement. The corner of Andrés’ lip turned up as he walked past Martín, the smirk leaving just as quickly as it had come. Martín felt the pleasant shudder course down his back, knowing the subtle look was meant for him alone. Thankfully, Sergio had had the sense to turn his attention back to his computer, probably looking for the programs they needed to get started. He wasn’t sure if he’d thrown himself back into work for the sake of allowing them a moment of privacy, or because he wanted to get Martín focused once more. All the same, as he turned his head to watch Andrés retreating out the door to the hallway, he appreciated the chance to have shared their moment.  
  
The now empty chair maintained a pleasant heat, signaling just how long Andrés must have been sitting there. A large stack of manila folders were pushed to the side, a variety of names written on the tabs. They could’ve just as easily been put there to distract him and not allow any proof they’d been speaking about him, but he hoped that wasn’t the case. Their discussion about artwork for his music had actually started to excite him from the time he parked the car, and it would be a welcomed target instead of only considering Andrés.  
  
He swayed from side to side in the chair, fingers tapping against the desk as he waited for Sergio to look up at him. Instead, the other man shifted through the stacks of folders until he found what he was looking for. He picked it up swiftly from the middle of the pile, before setting it down in front of Martín. “These are some of the designs for other EPs. Where you aren’t as young as some of our other performers, it doesn’t necessarily make sense to have your face on the cover.”  
  
“Beauty sells, Sergio,” he interrupted, covering his mouth with his pointer finger, his commitment to being on his best behavior already slipping away from him. He was glad the comment went unaddressed, as Sergio continued to speak over him.  
  
“There are a few other options of things we can do, but I’d like to hear your input.”  
  
He nodded, pulling the contents out of the sleeve. The first on the pile was a picture of Tatiana, surrounded by saturated, vibrant wildflowers in the middle of a field. Her face was turned away from the camera, but she still commanded his eye’s attention, positively erethral in the thin strapped, white summer dress, red curls cascading down her back. He’d listened to little of her earlier portfolio, but the image already alerted him to the sweeter music he’d find if he pressed play. The next image had bold lines of blues, yellows, and bright oranges, mimicking a sunset. The artist stood on top a pale transit van, arms extended wide. He felt somber just looking at it, knowing the artist’s music probably reflected the same mood. The next was a black and white photo of Luka, facial hair perfectly trimmed, dressed in darker clothes with his lightened guitar sitting on his lap. Unlike the other two, his target audience seemed noticeably different. Tatiana and the unknown singer were geared first and foremost to the younger generations, while Luka’s seemed catered from the beginning to pull a more mature audience. He glanced through a few other options, covered with colorful Picasso styled art, abstract images, or a variety of musical instruments and other objects.   
  
He picked through some of the abstract covers, selected his favorite ones with just guitars, and included the one with Luka. Each offered aesthetics he could appreciate, but none spoke to him or precisely what he wanted. He fanned the artwork in front of Sergio, before running a hand through his hair. “I’m not really sure what I like.”  
  
“Simple designs sometimes say the most,” Sergio answered, glancing over his choices. “Lately, that seems to be what gets the most attention. But, it also depends. What do you want your music to communicate?”  
  
“Well,” he popped his lip as he spoke, glancing up at the ceiling as he thought of the songs they’d produced. He used to write more about the mundane aspects of life, the relatable circumstances people went through as they tried to get through their day. It’d changed to waxing poetic lines, his words come more from his heart every time he sat and composed. Hues of salmon might look good, but they couldn’t just slap a title on a pink sheet of paper. It needed something more to stand apart, to grab the audience's eye. He just wasn’t sure what that was. “I have no idea.”  
  
“We have time to figure that out, if we don’t come to a decision today. But we do need to at least come up with a draft. Are you any good at making sketches?”  
  
“I can’t draw faces if that’s what you’re asking. Engineering requires the ability to draw shapes and figures, though. Why?”  
  
“It might help you come up with a few ideas. If you really find yourself unable to come up with anything, we can always have one of our graphic designers make up their minds for you. It’s just better if there are some personal touches, especially for your first album.”  
  
“Do you want me to work on some ideas in your office, or take the assignment home?”  
  
“The conference room is empty, if you’d like to sit in there,” Sergio replied, opening his top desk drawer. He took out a handful of blank papers and an assortment of pens, placing them back in front of him. Martín gave him a faint nod, gathering his drawing materials in one hand. “Again, Martín, it doesn’t have to be decided today, but the sooner the better. Having you perform in Berlin pushed you a few weeks ahead of schedule.”  
  
“Thank you for that opportunity. I still can’t get over the crowd singing my songs back to me. It was an amazing trip.” His eyes glanced towards the door, memories dancing across his mind. The crowds would be chanting more of his songs if he could become more recognizable, and the pressure of selecting the best album art offered a welcomed challenge. There had to be some powerful emotion he could draw from over the course of that trip, which would forever be one of the best experiences of his life. The bright smile he tried to keep reserved, meant only to come out in _ his _ company spread across his face.  
  
“You have a lot of talent. You earned your spot on the tour and I’m happy to send you out on more. I’ve been reorganizing some schedules, looking for places we can add you. You deserve this.”  
  
He beamed, the warm feeling spreading in his chest rapidly coursing through the rest of his body. Without waiting to be told again, he took the materials back with him out of the office. The conference room Sergio spoke of was easy to spot, and he quietly made his way to the door. The long table stretched out, coming to an end just a few feet from the large windows. With the curtains tied back, he had a view over parts of the Madrid skyline, a few odd buildings poking up and blocking out some of the more noticeable landmarks. It seemed rather plain compared to other major cities, but without a cloud in the sky, the outdoor scenery was at least something bright to look at while he waited for inspiration to strike.  
  
He’d decided against taking any of the other album covers with him, not wanting to be overly influenced by their styles. As he leaned back in one of the chairs, stretching out his arms with a heavy sigh, it no longer seemed like the worst idea. He didn’t want to sit around and draw until his hand cramped from use, ready to fall off, only to look down and see only doodles. He crumbled up one of the blank papers, throwing it across the room towards an invisible hoop. It might be easier to show his face, but his songs were less about just him now. The possibility of focusing on his guitar crept up in his mind, but it was old and dated, worn from years of use unlike the sleek design of other instruments. He tapped one of the pens on the blank sheet of paper, thinking. It wasn’t like he could just slap a picture of Andrés on the cover, as much as he might like to consider it, the stories his songs told revolved around him now.  
  
He shot to sitting up right, the lucid, tangible image becoming more and more clear to him by the minute. There were things he _ could _ do to draw off his source of inspiration. There were things he’d recently learned about, beautiful weaved lines of intricate details carved or sketched to explain things better than words ever could. It might not work as a final design, but it was at least something worth trying. Hopefully if one of the digital artists helped to improve his idea when he finished the rough sketch, it would be approved for the EP.  
  
Starting with two flat ovals, a larger base under a thinner one, he began to craft his idea. Stemming from the center, he worked to add a slim rectangle, starting in the middle of the bigger oval and thinning as it extended towards the top of the page. The blending of lines came next, pencil led smearing on the side of his hand as he erased and started to combine the different elements. The base of the guitar didn’t matter so much as the patterns he envisioned placed upon the body, following the methods for creating Carolan guitars. After placing a rosette and the bridge pins where he wanted them, corrected the thinning of the guitar’s waist, he grabbed for one of the silver fine tipped markers. He added the patina of his own guitar, little chips on the wood or places where he hadn’t always been very careful. Even though he’d taken the best care of the instrument that he could, the minor dents added character appropriate for what he was attempting now. Distortion in the etch along the body, adding character to the design. His etches followed geometric patterns, little numbers written alongside them to produce his favorite calculations. It might not be the finest design, a few pointers necessary to tie it together as a whole. Still, he tried to keep the overall design minimal, keeping to the theme that Carolan guitars were meant to be seen as individuals. Swapping out pens, he twirled small patterns, stretched out long enough they could only be recognized as letters if stared at for a great length of time. He dropped the pencil to the side, rubbing out the dull ache in his wrist. The sun now midway through the sky spoke to how long he’d spent on the draft, but it was coming together rather well now. A few added details to give it depth made it presentable, something to at least show for a few hours spent sketching.  
  
Ignoring the mess he left behind on the table, he picked up the corners of the paper and made his way towards Sergio’s office. He put the paper down in front of him, standing back as he waited for the reaction. Sergio fixed his glasses, holding the piece up in front of him. He recognized the look on his face, tilted eyebrow and gently upturned upper lip, similar to one Andrés had after a particularly good day. “I’ll take it, we have a good start?  
  
“Don’t be so nervous, it doesn’t suit you.” Sergio placed the artwork back on his table. He glanced up at him, the look in his eye all too knowing. “What made you choose a Carolan guitar?”  
  
His teeth graze over his tongue, debating the truthfulness of his answer. Sergio’s gaze never faltered, but still allowed him the option to speak up. Half truths seemed his best route, waiting to be told instead of assuming just how much Sergio knew. “There was a museum in Berlin I took a day to see.”  
  
“Ah, and that was your idea or my brother’s?”  
  
He dropped his head, pulling the chair back. Finally taking a seat again, he painted a look of innocence on his face. He tapped the desk, humming, “Raquel told you then?”  
  
“I’ve listened to your music and I’ve seen the two of you together. Neither of you tried to hide what was going on.” He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in the chair. “There are some things we need to discuss but it will have to wait until we can meet with you and Andrés in the same room.”  
  
“You’re not upset?”  
  
“Should I be? You’re both adults, and as long as these follow protocol there is no reason for me to be involved as your agent.”  
  
Martín smiled, a weight lifted off his shoulders. He sat a little easier in the office now, having one less thing to worry about. The paperwork still wasn’t his favorite aspect to a new romance, but at least there wasn’t going to be any additional complications with Sergio. “Aren’t going to threaten me about hurting your brother then?”  
  
“Don’t be dramatic. For once, I trust Andrés’ judgment in who he’s dating. Don’t push your luck,” he replied with a roll of his eyes. “Raquel and I would like it if you came to our engagement party. It’s more of an intimate family dinner, but Monica and your friend, Ricardo, will be there as well.”  
  
He blinked in surprise at the warmer response about his new relationship. The professional facade melted away, replaced with the younger brother who was trying to show his support. He hadn’t had that before, not even from anyone in his own family. To be met with open arms was something he could slowly lean into, actually able to get comfortable as their bond continued to grow. “I’d love to be there. Someone has to keep Denver from running his mouth.”  
  
“Or you can be a guest and enjoy a good party. My brother insists on taking care of the event, which means he’ll cook entirely too much food no one can name. Though, I bet you already knew that.”  
  
“You don’t share the same culinary skills?”  
  
“I can cook, but I don’t boast the way he does,” Sergio said, with a laugh. “I like these designs. I’ll take it to one of the digital artists to develop and have a few options for you to look over by the end of the week. I’ll have a few options for tour dates then, too.”  
  
“I look forward to it, and to the party.”  
  
Walking down the hall on the way back to his car, Martín could hear the few instructions being given from one of the studio rooms. Curiosity got the better of him, and he followed the noise to the source. The door was cracked open, giving him just enough room to see the photo shoot set up. A large grey screen was placed on the back wall and on the floor, lights placed on the corners. One of the assistants was moving a floral screen behind Andrés, who was currently twisting his arms in what was barely passable as dancing around his head. Martín snickered, pushing the door open further to get a better look while still trying to hide his position.  
  
They placed a leather chair in the middle of the grey tarp, Andrés following instructions as they started to fix little details for the photo. They had him lean forward, right elbow propped on his knee. He titled his head to the left, charming, photographic smile ready to go. They started to move a few records and guitars behind him, the image of a modern day Euterpe for the pages of their magazine. If he knew the image on his phone camera could compare to the ones that he would just have to wait for in the magazine, he might have taken one for himself to keep. Lights flashed as pictures were taken, Andrés moving in the chair as instructed. His fingers fell over his lips, eyes shut as they took a few photos from other angles. This was an unanticipated part of his day, but he appreciated the view all the same.   
  
Somewhere between watching Andrés working for the camera, his thoughts must have gotten the better of him. His cheeks flushed red when he was called out. “Are you done lurking Martín, or are you going to pretend you’re not standing behind the door?” Andrés asked, and after a moment,stood to move past the camera crew. He kept his professional tone until he’d passed the last photographer, stepping outside into the passable privacy of the hall. His hand curled around Martín’s for just a moment, his relaxed smile replacing the rehearsed one.  
  
“I didn’t know you were such a model,” he mumbled back, stepping away from the door.  
  
“All perks of the job. Smile here, sign there, date the best musician on the weekends," he replied in a little whisper of his own.   
  
Martín’s hands curled around the lapels of Andrés’ jacket, toothy grin across his face as he straightened the jacket for him. “And at your brother’s dinner parties.”  
  
“He couldn’t wait for me to extend the invitation myself,” Andrés replied with a ridiculed scoff Martín knew was more playful than not. “I’ve always been capable of getting dates on my own.”  
  
“I was invited, I didn’t know Sergio’s offer meant I was going with _ you _ ,” he retorted with a raise of his eyebrow. “You make too many assumptions.”  
  
After looking past Martín's shoulder, making sure no one could see them, he took a step forward. Andrés raised an eyebrow, mocking his attempt at a flirty comeback. He breath tickled Martín's lips, tempting and almost enough to make him lean in for a kiss. He knew better than that though, even as Andrés seemed to be testing the limits of his comfort in their relationship. “I don’t need to assume anything. I know you better than that.” The little twinkle in his eye lingered for just a moment, before he took a step back. “I would like it if you did come with me. My brother’s engagement party will be better with you by my side.”  
  
“Of course it will. Have you seen me in a suit?” He questioned, hands gesturing down his sides. “Can I call you later?”  
  
"You made yourself comfortable at my house, but you're asking for permission to give me a _phone call? _I'm not sure I'll ever understand you, Martín." He flicked his shoulder, releasing a small laugh.   
  
His own chest shook as he laughed in return, grinning brightly as he took a step backwards to start walking back down the hall. "Malparido, has anyone ever told you're exhausting?"   
  
“In more ways than one, I'm sure. My last meeting ends after 7. You're welcome to call me after that, if you have a grand romantic gesture planned," he teased, before quickly adding, "I won't accept frozen pizza.” With one final bright smile at him, Andrés turned to head back into the studio, not missing Martín’s bow at the request. The call would give them an opportunity to start getting on the same page before they'd need to meet with Sergio and the HR department about disclosures, but also remove the restraints of quick whispers and stolen faint touches still pleasantly heating his hand.  
  
“I wouldn't expect anything less." 


	23. Boyfriend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cracks knuckles* guess whose finally ready to finish this fic and has good inspiration again.

Martín leaned back on the sofa, guitar across his lap as he played the notes of one of his older songs. Inspiration for anything new had abandoned him, running just as far as it could to avoid being of any use. Strumming the guitar strings, he mindlessly sang a couple of the lyrics as he played, more out of habit than anything else. If he concentrated and really focused on his work, he might have been able to put himself into a space where he could actually develop this one. But his mind refused, block after block placed by the same detailed thing, or rather person, who normally propelled his muses forward. The memory of soft lips silently begging for _ him _ to plant tender kisses against them, the gentle scratch of Andrés’ morning stubble against his face, roaming hands seared against his skin all worked to possess him. It had only been a day since they’d last been in each other’s presence, and the more the clock ticked on the more he felt the crushing need to be with him again. It was nothing new, truly, to have every thought in his brain float back to Andrés. But now, things were different and the flutter inside his chest spoke to all that was coming to fruition. Still, it wasn’t enough to shake away the youthful craving of having Andrés by his side, inseparable unless they had no other choice. 

Fully realized devotion and propelled attachment were as dangerous a mixture as they were magnificent, years of past pains he often refused to acknowledge tearing at the security he found in Andrés. Little doubts would have found stronger form, if not for the fact Andrés had so willingly spoken of things between them to Sergio. Despite what his own insecurities might try to whisper to him, he was not meant to be a dirty little secret kept hushed under the dark cover of night. Still, they had yet to speak of legalities between the two of them, contracts and disclosures for their next step forwards briefly mentioned but otherwise avoided. They had no title to each other and only a few days to speak to anything being acted on. There was no pull on Andrés’ behalf, no attempt to dismiss all they had shared, even though they made no strides forward. Their flirtatious banter the night before spoke of nothing serious, a peaceful bubble over the phone with a no obvious lurking needle ready to pop. There was something else holding Andrés back from proceeding onto any sort of the next step, and it was more than Martín could piece together on his own. He could surmise his best guesses, based on his own history, but all that would do was drag him down into his own anxious discouragement. 

Three quick taps on his door made him set the guitar to the side. Denver had mentioned earlier in the day about stopping by, needing to come up with something appropriate for the engagement party they’d both been invited too. He’d grumbled in response about asking his girlfriend and not dragging Martín into the middle of it, but his friend had promptly hung up the phone without a response. Still, it had been enough for him to settle into the silky red robe he loved too much, a pair of black shorts and white tank top underneath it. Comfort was far more valuable than style on long evenings alone, and the ensemble helped to combat the summer heat. He forced a yawn, certain the exhaustion coloring bags under his eyes might be enough to deter Denver from staying too long. 

When he opened the door wide, the immediate wish to rewind time and only crack it open, or to step back into his room and put on something else, was all his dread filled him with. His shoulders shrank with the way Andrés’ lip curled, lighthearted judgement obvious in his deep brown eyes. Compared to the man standing in front of him, Martín undeniably looked as though he had just been pulled from a rubbish bin.   
  
When he pushed the door forward, a buffer between his ragged, tasteless style and the pressed dress pants and vest Andrés wore, the other man caught it with his foot. Martín wrapped the belt around his waist, a poor attempt at covering up his disheveled appearance. Through the crack in the door, the aroma of curry strengthened and took residence in the back of his throat, the bag in Andrés’ hand swinging forward to knock against the wood. “Is this your way of saying you don’t want to see me?”   
  
“It’s my way of saying I thought you had late meetings on Thursdays.” He crossed his arms over his chest, cocking his head as he grinned. He raised an eyebrow, still looking at the other man partially through the cracked door, making no indication he meant to step aside.   
  
“I do, but I delegated them. They didn’t need me when I had better things to do with my evening.” Briefly, Andrés’ hand flirted forward, two fingers running up the seam of his robe. Martín’s breath lost its steady rhythm, interrupted by a shallow inhale as the skin under his clothes warmed at the touch. “I’m glad to see my assumptions were right.”   
  
“Oh?“   
  
“Do I need to spell it out for you, Martín? I had thought you could piece it together on your own,” he hummed, frowning in disappointment. His hand came to rest on the door next to Martín’s head, the other still swaying the bag of food that was no doubtedly getting colder with each passing moment.   
  
Andrés’ knuckles brushed against a few loose pieces of hair scattered across his forehead, almost enough to make him lean in with a purr. Their coy game was proving too fun for an evening he planned on sitting in the company of his music, and he willed himself to make the next move instead of agreeing to defeat. Puffing out his bottom lip, Martín nodded. “It might help if you told me. I don’t get very many visitors.”   
  
Andrés released his flimsy grip on the door, fingers moving to lovingly touch Martín’s hairline. He brushed a few unruly hairs away, the fond look in his eye enough to make Martín bite down on his bottom lip. They stood there for a moment, the comfortable silence skirting around them as it always did. They had the benefit of the lack of traffic outside, the evening air twirling around them with a magnetism pulling him closer despite his imitated resilience. The same forces were gripping Andrés, tugging him forward in sync with Martín. Andrés’ head tilted, close enough for heated exhales to tickle Martín’s lips. His heart fluttered with anticipation, ready to close the distance between them until something rough bumped against his nose. Martín blinked furiously, the unexpected playful assault on his senses blurring his vision.   
  
Andrés moved the bag back to his side, grinning from ear to ear. “I brought you dinner, so the least you could do is let me in.”   
  
“Well, when you put it like that.”   
  
He did as instructed, locking the door loudly behind them. Once he turned around, Andrés’ free hand gently traced the skin under his jaw, leaning in for a brief kiss meant to stand in for a better hello than the one he’d initially received. He couldn’t complain, not with the easy smile pressed against his lips meant for him alone. He reached for the handles of the bag, turning to place the contents down on the counter. He took the black takeout bowls out, folding the bag until it would fit in the rubbish bin. Before he could take out the cutlery from the drawer, lean arms wrapped around his waist, hands folding over the round of his stomach.   
  
“Can I help you with something?” He asked, turning his head slightly to look at Andrés standing at his side. He rubbed his thumb over Martín’s abs, chin resting on Martín’s shoulder.   
  
“I’m just admiring you.”   
  
“Getting out forks and knives?”   
  
“I know it’s a new experience for you, since you didn’t discover cooking until I met you. I don’t want to miss the show.” He bumped his nose in the soft skin of Martín’s cheek, chuckling. The domestic hold around his waist and the content bliss they easily fell into vastly improved Martín’s mundane evening. Purposely, his hand reached out for the arrangement of metal spoons. A light smack on top of his finger stopped him. “Now you’re just proving my point. You need me.”   
  
“I need you, eh?” He turned his head, a mildly crooked smile permanently fixed on his face. “How would you suggest we eat, then?”   
  
Andrés’ hand slid over the top of Martín’s gradually, stroking as it made its way between Martín’s fingers. He guided their locked hands over to the forks, helping him pick up two. After doing the same with the knives he closed the drawer. “See? It wasn’t that difficult and now you know for next time.”   
  
Martín turned to face him, the counter pressing into the middle of his back. He ignored it, too focused on flashing a lopsided smirk. Andrés’ eyes lit up with the weight of his mischievous smile, deep crow’s feet and lines of his forehead speaking to how content he was to simply be in Martín’s company. His heart beated steadily, his own cares and concerns melting away in yet another private bubble they’d created for themselves. He left a peck against Andrés’ thin lips, before he took his hand to guide him to the table. He held the food and utensils in his other hand.   
  
“Were you writing a new piece?” He asked, eyes skirting over to where Martín’s guitar still sat abandoned on the sofa.   
  
“I only have to tell you if you’re asking as my boss,” Martín replied, raising his eyebrow.   
  
“Then I’m asking as your boss.”   
  
Martín smirked, ready to stick his tongue out at Andrés, who continued looking between the guitar and back to him as though the right look would be enough to get Martín to crack. He shook his head, squaring his shoulders. “Then I’m still telling you nothing.”   
  
He put the food down, pulling out Andrés’ chair for him. Hints of challenge flashed across Andrés’ face as Martín refused to answer, the hand falling on his hip enough of a warning he had not heard the end of Andrés’ question. Instead of taking his seat, his other hand planted against the small of Martín’s back, pulling him closer. His fingers coiled, scratching against the material of his clothes as he continued to toy with him silently. From his angle, a few measly inches all that remained from their chest bumping against the other’s, Martín was able to fully appreciate the dark grey waistcoat hugging Andrés’ sides, falling against where he knew oblique muscles lied. A familiar kiss fell against his jaw, trying to elicit nothing more than an answer to his question. Martín’s lips only folded inward, still too proud to so easily admit his own defeat. Andrés’ nose nuzzled against the side of his neck, a softer tactic than the one he’d tried before. He peered up at Martín, angelic sincerity softening his eyes. The intoxicating power over the man he adored stayed in a vice grip around Martín, refusing to back down as he zipped his fingers across his lips.   
  
Andrés took a step back, hands reaching out to hold both of his. Something earnest on his face replaced the amorous game, but nothing would have prepared him for the next calculated move. “What if I am asking as your boyfriend? Certainly there are more privileges involved with that title.”   
  
“My _ boyfriend _?” Martín hummed, positive he was beaming. He draped his arms over Andrés shoulders, fingers lacing loosely behind his neck. “I wasn’t aware I had one of those. You’ve been avoiding the conversation.” 

When Andrés started to move, almost instinctively as though the mood tilted towards something heavy and dangerous, Martín only held tighter to him. There was an unmissable nervousness in the way his upper lip twitched, in the way his body still leaned away from Martín’s though his arms no longer squirmed away from holding him too. He looked past Martín’s shoulder first, then down at the floor beside their feet. Confirmation had never hit so strongly about any of his theories, though nothing could have prepared him for this. Andrés, strong, confident, powerful Andrés, was reduced to the same anxiety Martín experienced only a few days prior, upon returning from Berlin. He pressed a kiss to his temple, reassuringly. 

“That isn’t how I meant it,” he promised, fervently. The festering wound of Andrés’ past still coiled around him, his forehead leaning forward to rest on Martín’s shoulder. 

When he looked up again, his hands slowly made their way to cup Martín’s face. He brushed back the hairs over Martín’s forehead, the radiant smile cracking through the broken pieces of his own past hurt. He stood up taller, eyes focused and neutral breaths expanding his chest as he simply looked back at Martín. The telling signs of his bold Andrés, the determined business shark, the surprisingly devoted man he deeply came to care for were staring him back in the face despite the crumbling walls of his resilience. Perhaps they were beautifully damaged in the same places, needing someone willing to fight to put it all together again. He leaned in, foreheads gently rested against Andrés’. His hands came to hold Andrés’ wrists securely, the silent promise the best he could offer to reassure he meant to go nowhere.   
  
“I know you didn’t. But what you don’t understand is how much harder your life will be, if you pick me.” 

“I already picked you.” 

“You can’t do that when you don’t know everything you’re getting into.”   
  
He opted for silence again, rubbing little circles on the back of Martín’s hand. He was beginning to recognize the movement for what it was: thoroughly sincere adoration, invisible markings linger on his skin to place some possession over him. Andrés was still seeking him, regardless of all the things Martín didn’t know, as though he were a light at the end of a very dark road. Their change in physical relationship had furthered their already strong emotional bond, introducing new challenges but also wonderful opportunities. Martín pulled one of Andrés’ hands to his lips, trailing little kisses against his fingers waiting for the right moment to speak again.   
  
When the little tremors of Andrés’ hands ceased once more, Martín placed a phantom kiss against his temple. The embrace melted into a surprising hug, the last of Andrés’ pride absent for the time being. Stroking the back of his head, Martín spoke cautiously. “I know you. Anything else, I’m willing to learn.” 

Food on the table continued to be ignored as Martín slowly untangled from his hold. He moved them over to the old uncomfortable sofa, knowing it was still better than just standing around in the middle of his kitchen. Andrés’ resilience was starting to take form again, in the way his body quit shaking and his eyes lost the hints of fear over this conversation. He had known for a while there were things he’d yet to learn, and could supply his best educated guesses about what could come out of the dynamic of their relationship. But the strong assurance of Andrés’ determination to bring everything in over time, to not rush immediately into what he wanted while ensuring Martín had chances to gracefully make an exit before they went too far, was all the confirmation he needed. 

His arms latched around Andrés, chin rested on top of his head before the other man had a chance to protest against his decision. If they were going to sort through the difficulties, if they were going to stand a chance, the environment needed to suit the conversation. Andrés still squirmed when he held him, no different than the night they’d first spent together in his villa. It took less for him to get comfortable this time, his body falling into place against Martín’s as though his mind knew it belonged there. Security came next, Andrés’ hand resting over Martín’s when he settled in the embrace.   
  
“You don’t get to the top without making a few enemies along the way, not in this industry. It’s not as dramatic as the Americans,” he paused with a shudder, trying to lighten the uncertainty in his voice. “But there are plenty of opportunities for paparazzi and rivalries.”   
  
“Like with Tokio?”   
  
“Tokio is one of the problems I did not adequately prepare to deal with, yes.”   
  
“Rivalries are to be expected, you said. In a way it makes sense, you can’t be the only record company in the whole of Spain.”   
  
“If it were that simple.” Andrés shook his head, a pained expression furrowing his features. “Sergio insisted she had talent and we needed a new agent at the time. It was an error in my judgement. I shouldn’t have allowed her to become my mirror.”   
  
“You can’t seriously blame yourself for her decisions. She’s a snake--”   
  
“And where do you think she learned that from?”   
  
He pressed his hand down on the back of the sofa, enough for his body to arch and make eye contact again. The unmistakable clench of his jaw spoke to more than just a petty rivalry between them, a deeper history of potential sabotage and bruising hits exchanged between the two of them. It made sense, in a way, for Andrés to feel responsible for designing his own worst rival. At the same time, Tokio’s tendencies were probably only enabled by Andrés, encouraged but not entirely shaped by him alone. Competition shouldn’t have been a threat, not for Andrés anyway. He had to have been able to thrive under harsh circumstances, to build his _ empire _ up from nothing. The conflict between his studio and hers would only be a motivator, not the only source of so much agony and haunted memories.   
  
“Even if she did, her actions are her own. You’re capable of handling anything she can come up with,” he assured.   
  
“Yes, but are you?” He sat up, pulling from Martín’s arms completely as he took residence on the opposite end of his sofa. “Because I can only do so much to protect your image, Martín. We have legal teams ready and waiting for our artists, entire dedicated PR teams to help your career flourish. But that’s without my preferential treatment.”   
  
“I’m not afraid of bad publicity, if that’s what you’re asking.” He let Andrés put the distance between them, but placed his empty and waiting hand in the middle seat ready whenever he was willing to take it.   
  
“It’s not as easy as you think, and I’m not always as supportive as I should be.” He wet his lips, rubbing his hand under his jaw.   
  
“I’m not weak, Andrés.”   
  
He looked ahead, sitting tall as he ran his hand down his face. His breath shook his chest, the tremors back in his hand though he tried to hide them. After a moment, he spoke his words of caution. “Don’t assume because you are mine I will not put my life’s work before you, amante. I won’t hesitate to let go, nor should you. You’ve worked hard to get where you are.”   
  
The walls of Andrés’ defenses were building back up again, crafted once again to try and place distance between their connection. All Martín could do was nod, understanding the reasons for needing to place barriers. It wasn’t as though he expected a magical solution to the years of struggle Andrés went through to get where he was--far from it, in fact. He knew, just as well, how much time and energy he’d poured into drafting his music, into putting one foot in front of the other on a relentless uphill climb. He’d given up trying to make anything out of his talents when he was younger, where Andrés had persevered to rise to the top. Whatever threats the paparazzi posed, or whatever else Tokio had embedded to trigger his stone cold tendencies were not enough to make him less prepared to weather the storms. Changes had tried to sweep him under their currents his entire life and left behind only destruction in their wake. This time, he had something to hold onto, something worthy to fight for beyond himself. He wasn’t going to let Andrés take the easy way out, not when they were so close to lady luck shining down in their favor. 

Fortune favored the bold, and there had yet to be any concrete obstacles for them yet.   
  
“I’m not asking you to give anything up,” he answered after a moment, pointing between the two of them. “We can just see where this goes.”   
  
Andrés said nothing, but the touch of vulnerability dissipated between them. The conversation was far from over, though Martín knew time was necessary before they might be able to fully discuss everything holding Andrés back. He had concerns and questions of his own, things plaguing his mind since their connection built momentum in Berlin. There was no denying rushing in blindly would bring everything crashing down, but they were establishing something stronger with every honest word and display of weakness. For now, they could enjoy their evening and work on things another time. Ignoring the way his stomach grumbled with hunger from the mild smell of curry spread across his home, he picked up the discarded guitar from the floor.   
  
“I thought I had yet to earn any privileges,” Andrés said with a lopsided grin, accepting his victory in the request.   
  
“If you’re going to be cocky about it, I’ll put it away. I wanted to do something nice for my _boyfriend_.”   
  
Andrés flatted his hand against the body of the guitar, pushing it further into Martín’s arms. “That won’t be necessary. I promise to be on my best behavior.”   
  
The euphoria swelled inside his head, channeling down the rest of his nerves as Andrés eagerly waited for the song to be played just for him. Even the heavy spotlights and adoring crowd of his first concert dimmed in comparison to the joy of Andrés wanting to listen to his music. His muse encouraged him just as he inspired him, an impossible task to not want to comply with the other man’s wishes. All of his previous relationships lacked anything beyond the physical, and as wonderful as it felt to kiss Andrés or hold him in his arms after they’d spent the night together, this was something far sweeter. There was denying how much _his_ man doted on him in return, even if Martín had never explicitly stated his songs were meant to profess his feelings for him. There was a simple understanding, the defining feature rooted in everything expanding in their happiness. He longed to be adored by the world as a musician, but being praised by Andrés for his work was the prize he never anticipated.   
  
His animated fingers strung the first chords of the song, a cover of one of his favorites rather than one of his own. For a moment while he sang, Andrés only lost himself in the lyrics. He closed his eyes, head tilted against the sofa and Martín could have sworn he heard the flutters of his heart keeping in tune with the chords of the guitar. Peace swept around them, the Utopian bubble back again where nothing would be able to tear them apart. He was ready to defend them, to keep finding ways to come back to these moments that made their relationship what they were.   
  
_In your heart I see the start of every night and every day  
__In your eyes I get lost, I get washed away  
__Just as long I'm here in your arms I could be in no better place__  
__  
_Before he could continue to the rift, a blinding light dilated his pupils out of focus. Andrés’ resonating laugh filled the room, the personification of mischief having taken form as he snapped another photo with his phone. This time, he’d taken time to at least turn the damned flash off leaving Martín the ability to see as he cut off the song.   
  
“Are you even listening or can I put this thing away? My wonderful dinner has gotten cold now,” he pouted, hiding his face in the grove of his elbow.   
  
“I can do two things at once, Martín.” He leaned forward, kissing the strong round of Martín’s nose. His voice dipped, his smirk already speaking to his answer. “But you don’t get to eat until you’ve finished my song.”   
  
“I’m starting to reconsider if I like you. You should at least front my fees with something better than lukewarm curry.”   
  
He ran a finger under Martín’s chin, making him look up from where his hands loosely held his guitar. “We have another show for you. Consider this backstage practice.” The powerful admiration across his face was enough of a reason for Martín to consider playing more, but the additional bonus of another concert coming up made him want to jump to his feet. Andrés had resumed leaning back on the opposite end of the sofa, legs thrown over Martín’s lap. He kept his phone in his hands, twisting the angle between photos.   
  
Still denying Andrés’ request gave him too much of a rush. His fingers dragged out each note, the vibrations between each one longer than the last. The disapproving scowl across his boyfriend’s face was worth fighting his own desire to give in easily. His hand beat steadily against the back of the guitar, but his lips held back each word tightly.   
  
“I’m not putting my phone away if that’s what you’re waiting for.”   
  
“I’m just practicing, part of that is listening to the music. Really getting a feel for it. Not just singing every little song.” He puffed his chest, fingers moving away from the strings to twist the tuning knobs.   
  
“Martín,_ please."  
  
_“I’m preparing my guitar,” he replied with a wave of his hand. “I know I had to teach you piano but I’ve seen you play the guitar. You know how important it is to the music.”   
  
Andrés hunched forward, snapping another photo of Martín’s hands on the guitar’s neck. He waved the device in Martín’s face, forcing his attention off his means of frustrating the other man for just a moment. Andrés pulled his hand closer to his chest, using the other to point down to his pocket. He dragged out the demonstration of placing it back into his pocket, ensuring there was no mistaking it had been put away. Before Martín could continue the song, Andrés shifted his weight against his arm. Success wasn’t that easy though, as Andrés guided his entire right hand back to the guitar strings. “Sing for me, please.”   
  
The forthright request was impossible to deny, especially with Andrés’ heat pleasantly warming his side or the smell of his captivating floral smell of his cologne making Martín scrunch up his nose. He shifted the guitar, leaving plenty of room for Andrés to stay at his side as he finally continued.   
  
_Each time you leave me I start losing control  
__You're walking away with my heart and my soul  
__I can feel you even when I'm alone  
__Oh, baby, don't let go  
__'Cause you're simply the best  
__Better than all the rest__  
__  
_When he put the guitar back down, Andrés’ arm secured firmly around his waist. Their legs extended to the other end of the sofa, knotted together as they reclined. This time, there were no restless twists and turns on Andrés’ part, no objections keeping him from the serenity of resting against him. Martín’s hand combed through thin hairs, weaving through the product to free loose curls. His hand dragged down to the base of Andrés’ head, continuing the massage as he did. When his thumb found the base of his head, satisfied purrs followed. He turned his head, mouth pulled into a tight smile that spread wide across his face.   
  
“Were you a cat in another life?” He hummed as he stopped the circular movements.   
  
“That’s ridiculous,” Andrés grumbled sleepily, his hand reaching up to where Martín’s now only rested.   
  
“Is it? Because I distinctly heard you _purr_. You’re not much of a shark are you?” He dropped a kiss against Andrés’ furrowed head, the grooves evidence of his displeasure with the taunt. “You hide in your dark cave of an office all day, trying to intimidate everyone, when you’re just a gatito.”   
  
He tried to encourage the meditative massage again by guiding Martín’s hand where he wanted it to go, but he only left it fall flat every time. He huffed, resorting to running his finger up the center of Martín’s chest as though contact of his own would be enough to persuade Martín to give him what he wanted. “There are easier ways to make me leave than comparing me to a kitten. You could just _ask_, for example.”   
  
“Hush,” Martín ordered, earning him a displeased frown.   
  
Before Andrés could complain further, Martín soothed him into submission with the renewed massage on the back of his neck. Wonderfully hushed silence wrapped around them once again, the ticking sound of Andrés’ watch the only distinguishable noise. He would make it a point to get up in a moment and grab the food, his stomach still voicing its betrayed sentiments with the occasional rumble, but for now he couldn’t have been moved if offered the entire world on a golden platter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was feeling inspired by my Schitt's Creek babies and their song (Simply the Best, the Noah Reid cover). They always make want to have softer stuff for Berlermo. :) Hope you enjoyed this one. The rest is coming fast! 7 chapters left to go.


	24. The Disclosure

Upon arriving for his appointment with the HR and legal teams to discuss the different disclosures he would have to sign, Martín couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight before him. Paula sat in the waiting area between Sergio and Andrés’ offices, swinging her legs and pushing away whatever book it was Mónica patiently held out for her. She crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back and sliding down the leather of the sofa as she continued her disapproving rambles. Blessed Mónica never lost her patience, animatedly trying to convince Paula of the importance of reading the book for her summer studies. As happy and gentle as she tried to sell the story of the princess who hid behind a mask to defend her kingdom. _ She should be fast tracked for sainthood _ , he thought, elbow propped up on her desk as he watched the scene unfold in front of him. He had to admire the young woman for her efforts, almost ready to pick up the book himself, though her words only continued to fall on deaf ears. Paula tilted her head back, faking a loud snore as she did. Mónica sighed with resignation as her best efforts failed, putting the book down on the coffee table in front of her as the phone started ringing.  
  
“I’ll be right with you, Martín,” she apologized with a wave of her hand, quickly crossing the distance to answer the call.  
  
He watched as Paula sprang upright, wide eyes and toothy grin when she heard his name. He nodded politely to Mónica, before making his way to sit in one of the dark grey armchairs next to the sofa. Paula laid down, elbows propped to hold her face in her hands as she watched him. “Hello Martín. Are you here to see Tío?”  
  
He looked over his shoulder to ensure no one else was privy to their conversation, only nodding when he was certain, a soft smile across his face out of habit. “I am. And are you here to record your songs?”  
  
She huffed, lip pouting in response. “Sergio said I’m not allowed in the studio without an adult. And now I’m bored and there’s nothing to do.”  
  
Martín chuckled, pointing to the discarded chapter book on the coffee table. “Nothing, eh? Don’t you have some reading to do?”  
  
“I’ve read that one twice. It was supposed to be the _ third _ book, not the first one.”  
  
He picked it up, flipping through a few of the pages. The pages were split between large, bold words and colorful imagery illustrating the events as unfolded. For being a children’s book, even he found himself interested in the quick paced story, even after just a quick browse. At least it was a far better read than some of the older stories stemming from his childhood, all the ones of brave knights and fair maidens sitting around waiting to be rescued. He’d never wanted any part of that, on either side, too focused on his own little corners of the world over such dramatized romances. Still, he couldn’t fault Paula for not wanting to sit and read quietly when she’d already finished it more than once. Reading had never been a passion of his on the best of days, numbers and music having latched onto him from a young age. 

“Well I’ve never read it,” he replied, waving the book just in front of her face. “Only, I don’t know how to read.” 

Paula gave her best attempt at an eye roll, lashes fluttering and eyelids blinking unfocused about halfway through. The unimpressed heavy frown creasing her forehead spoke of exactly who she had learned such mannerisms from. He’d make a point of chastising Andrés for teaching his impressionable niece such behaviors, should the opportunity arise. 

“No way I saw you reading your phone on the way to my football match,” she protested, pulling the book from his hand to get it out of her face. 

“Or, I was just looking at pictures. You’ll never know.” He got up from the chair, and waited for Paula to move her legs off the middle cushion. Once she sat up again, he took the seat next to her. Pointing at the center of the hardcover book, he asked, “Will you read it to me?” 

Paula glanced between his finger and back up at him, clearly contemplating the offer laid down in front of her. Her eyes sparkled, humming as she opened the first page of the book. “But if I read to you, you have to do something for me,” she bargained. Martín had to cover his mouth with the back of his hand to keep from breaking into a full belly laugh. This child was already as brilliant and sly as he could imagine her mother was, and Andrés’ influences were just as obvious. 

“Oh? And what is it you’d like?” 

Paula tapped her forefinger against her chin, before looking out towards the hallway. “You have to take me to the recording studio and show me your guitar. I know that’s where Sergio and Tío keep them. I want to play.” 

“A fair trade,” he conceded. “If your mama and Sergio agree, I’d be very happy to teach you. But why hasn’t your Tío?” 

She smiled brightly, moving to cup her small hands around his ear without a moment’s hesitation. Her soft voice tickled his ear as she tried her best to keep the secret between the two of them. “He’s _ bad_, he breaks all the strings.” 

The corner of his mouth curled, highly entertained by the endless amount of information Paula was willing to supply after only two afternoons spent talking to each other. Andrés’ niece was a flowing source of stories and taunts he would keep in mind to utilize later, when he found himself at a loss for the upper hand. Unknowingly, she was already wrapping him around her finger with her endearing friendliness and happy childish spirits. Sweets and toys and whatever else it was children asked for in return for their favors would be hers, if it got him access to another facet about his boyfriend. 

He rested his arm along the back of the sofa, leaning down just enough to be able to view the words and pictures from over Paula’s shoulders. She read, animating each character with individual tones to make them stand apart. Her face lit up every time she spoke of the princess, determined, strong, and compassionate as she defended her kingdom from various threats. The theatrics made listening to the youthful story more enjoyable, his eyes opened where he normally would have dozed.

“I see someone finally got you to settle down,” Sergio said gently, closing the door to his office behind him. Martín didn’t miss how he took a minute to fix his glasses or run his hands down the black suit to release the creases. He looked in desperate need of a shot of caffeine, yet another busy work day coupled with the responsibility of watching his child for the day wearing him obviously thin. 

“Martín asked me to read him a book. He says he doesn’t know how, but I don’t believe him,” she answered, pausing after she finished the latest page. At least she looked happy 

Sergio raised an amused eyebrow, making his way to join them in the small waiting area. He took the armchair Martín had previously occupied, the hints of exhaustion now masked as he sat closer to his daughter. “Martín, we will have to hire you a tutor. Reading opens a world of adventure.” 

“And we will have to get you a new business printing motivational posters.” 

Sergio shook his head, releasing a relaxed laugh in response. “I’m pretty sure my brother would pettily take me to court for that and cut me off from our lawyers. No thank you.” 

“You have to play smarter than that, Sergio. Build the business under pseudos, work from the ground up. Disappear in the dead of night.” He counted off the steps of his plan with his fingers, smiling proudly as his generally uptight manager chuckled once again. 

“I’ll consider it, I might need it after working with you.” 

Martín’s mouth hung open, gesturing to Paula who had gone back to reading the book quietly to herself. “Next time, I’ll let your daughter cause havoc for your poor assistant.” 

“It started with my error of grabbing the wrong book, but thank you for keeping her company. Paula, did you thank Martín?” 

She reached up, throwing her arms around his neck in a quick hug. Martín returned it with a loose one arm, grateful to be so trusted so quickly with Andrés’ family. He’d never had anything like this before, all of his previous relationships never moving past the introductory dates. Denver’s father, bless his soul, had tried his best to take Martín under his wing and treat him as one of his own—but his damned stubborn nature refused to easily embrace it before it was gone again. They had just barely begun to be anything, but the promise of more interactions like these was an unanticipated bonus that came with the new territory of dating Andrés.  
  
“He’s going to teach me guitar!” She spun back around to face Sergio, nearly bouncing on the sofa as she spoke of Martín’s promise. 

“He’s a wonderful teacher. How did you get so lucky, cariña?” Andrés asked from behind Martín’s shoulder. He turned his head, fond looks exchanged that made Martín’s heart flutter. 

“I read him a book and he promised he would!” 

Martín turned back to look at Sergio, hands raised. “If you and Raquel would like me to, of course. I did mention she’d have to ask first.” 

“I’m sure we can arrange something,” Sergio nodded. “I’ve tried teaching her the violin, but she ran away in the time it took me to get it out of the case.” 

“The violin is boring, the guitar is cool!” Paula explained, looking eagerly between Andrés and Martín to take her side. 

“Now Paula, each instrument is _ cool _ for different reasons. Rich music flows through the violin, like waves on the ocean. Just like the sea in the Seychelles.” 

Martín twisted his face in disgust at Andrés’ eloquent answer. “The guitar _ is _ cooler,” he agreed. “You can’t be a rock star with a violin.” 

“See! Martín agrees!” 

“Martín needs more culture,” Andrés squeezed his shoulder as he spoke, eyes shining with the crooked smile on his face. 

“It has nothing to do with culture. The guitar is just better.” 

His hand moved to rest on top Andrés’, still rested on his shoulder. The bliss of the moment was interrupted by Paula’s childish squirm, accompanied by the loud “Eww _ cooties _!” at the display of affection. 

“Cariña,” Andrés nodded. “You’re exactly right.” 

Martín held tighter to his hand when Andres tried to pull away, playing along with Paula’s little game. He tugged again, smirking in triumphant at the way Andrés frowned when he gave in this time. He knew retribution would follow the next time they were alone, but he was ready to bite back. 

“Let go Martín.” The order fell short of inspiring him to actually give in, the look on Andrés’ face too cheerful to have actually meant it. 

“You weren’t afraid of my germs—”

“Do I have to remind you two we are still at the office?” Sergio interrupted, shooting them a directed look before pointing around the room and at Paula, who had thankfully resumed reading the ending of her book. Martín’s cheeks turned a brighter pink than the cover of her book, a thin smirk spread across tightly pursed lips as he tried his best not to laugh at being scolded. It was enough for Andrés to step around the sofa finally, taking a seat close to him while still giving better professional distance. 

“Are you excited for your next performance, Martín?” Andrés asked, shifting the topic of conversation to something more suited for their surroundings. Still, the tone in Andrés’ voice and the way he focused on him spoke less of the question being directed from his employer, and rather as an interested partner. He smiled, leaning his head back. 

“I don’t think I’ll be so nervous this time,” he said, performance jitters still yet to come. The set list was finalized, tucked away in guitar case and carefully practiced through the last few days. The glittering Wiznik Center had the added benefit of being only a short car away from his home, rather than the necessary plane ride. Perhaps the only point of concern came from opening for Tatiana, who still put distance between them. It was an opportunity to work better together, one not to be taken for granted with the amount of things he’d be able to learn from her. Past judgments and interactions weren’t worth limiting future progress. 

“That’s always good to hear. Some of our performers take years to get over their stage fright, so there’s no reason to feel ashamed if you are nervous,” Sergio replied. 

“And if you do, you can always think of someone _ special _, cheering you on in the crowd even when they can’t be there,” Andrés added, squeezing the back of his hand. He turned to give him a grateful smile, and truly, he was. Though he longed to succeed as more than Andrés’ boyfriend, to truly prove his worth and dedication to his talents, no one had ever shown so much belief in him. Even his father, who had taken some time to teach him to play only ever meant it as a limited hobby. He had spent years on his own fueling his own work, always falling short of the sweet spot he was content with. It wasn’t just the man sitting next to him who believed in him, but his agent who had given him a chance; Denver, who always complimented his work in his own ways; and the building fan base currently streaming his released singles. 

“Ricardo and I got tickets for this one,” Mónica said soft and excited, hands tucked into the pockets of her pale pink jumpsuit as she skirted from side to side. He grinned happily at her, but wondered just how long she had stood waiting around instead of interrupting their discussion. 

“He mentioned that,” Martín replied. “Hopefully you enjoy the concert.” 

“I’m sure I will, I’ve listened to a few of your songs lately. You have such great power and control over your voice. Ricardo always says you’re even better live.” 

“Don’t let him know you told me he’s capable of saying nice things about me.” He winked as she laughed at his joke, eyes lit up bright. 

“Is Mrs. Sierra ready for us?” Sergio didn’t wait for her confirmation, already rising from his seat. He followed suit, Andrés’ hand slipping slowly off his once again. 

“If Alicia hears you call her that, you’re on your own. Just make sure it’s not on my carpets.” Andrés warned. Sergio ignored his patronizing, but Martín had already been warned of her more _ unusual _ tactics as their head of HR. 

Martín followed behind Sergio as he led to the conference room. Andrés gave him one last look, offering his best wordless support. He had felt nothing but dread in the days leading up to this appointment, having no interest in being poked and prodded for information about his personal relationships. Even with talking things through with Andrés, who had given his best efforts to try and prepare him, he still wanted to turn back around. 

The woman waiting at the table leaned back, hands rested on the large round of her stomach. Bangs curled over her forehead, hair tied back into a slick ponytail. She popped the hard candy in her mouth, gesturing for Sergio to close the door behind him. Sat next to her was a large man dressed in a suit that didn’t seem to quite fit him. Alicia sat tall, the wide smile on her face coerced. 

“I had expected you to wait outside, Sergio,” she stated, still pushing her sweet around in her mouth. She turned her chair, still reclined as she pushed a folder across the table in front of one of the empty seats. Her eyes gleamed as she looked up at Martín, and added, “I was looking forward to meeting with Andrés’ latest conquest on my own.” 

Martín brushed off the remark, already knowing this was exactly the kind of behavior Andrés had hinted at when they discussed it. In his words, her calloused behavior helped establish great leadership and problem solving skills, but locked away an easy ability to show some empathy in her professionalism. A few comments meant to get under his skin wasn’t going to get a rise out of him and drag this out longer than it needed to be. Instead, he moved forward to take his seat. 

“He’s still my client, Alicia,” was all Sergio said, taking the seat next to him. 

“Even more nepotism, don’t you think?” Her feet finally found the floor as she leaned across the table, hands propping up her chin. “He picked your new little addition, and he already favored you. It’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.” 

Sergio shot a directed look at their lawyer who stayed quiet, observing the unfolding scene. It must not have been enough for him to intervene, because he continued to say nothing as he flipped open the identical copy of the packet in front of him. Martín ignored Sergio’s defensive stance, still grateful for it even if it was not needed. The woman kept surveying him, looking for a response he was not willing to give. He opened his own packet instead, reading over the cover letter. 

“Do you want me to read the packet for myself or do we go through each page together?” 

“If you are capable of understanding the big words, you are free to read it on your own and ask any questions or state your concerns,” she patted his hand, the same twisted smile still on her face. “Oslo or myself would be happy to help you sound out the harder ones. It’s always the same in that seat, you never understand what you’re being asked.” 

“I’m sure I’ve read more complicated documents. I do work as an engineer professor at the university.” 

“Oh, my sincerest apologies.” 

He turned past the first page and glossed over the table of contents waiting for him on the second. Everything seemed standard, easy to comprehend by just looking at the subsection titles. Despite her blatant insults, he couldn’t see anyone being unable to make sense of its context, even if Andrés had picked others with less common sense and reading comprehension. 

It wasn’t until the _ Termination _header at the bottom of the page caught his eye that anything made him look twice. 

He blinked in surprise, taking a moment to weigh the word in his mind. Images of heavy, grey clouds accompanied it, and his shoulders shrank in response. It made sense to have a section about what would happen should they break up, of course. Every facet of the relationship, including the most unpleasant one, would need laws and clauses to back them up so neither felt taken advantage of if it ended. Only, until that moment, he had never stopped to consider there was always the chance things wouldn’t work out. The honeymoon phase was easy to be swept in, giving no consideration to Andrés’ comments of his shortcomings or what little he knew of his previous marriages. They were older, and with age came more wisdom on how to work through rough patches. Curiosity still clawed at him with looming concerns as he skimmed through the pages. The gnawing need to skip to the last one repeating in his head. It didn’t take long to get to the first clause of the fated page, as ugly and haunting as jagged blood red words painted on a black canvas. Staring back at him, it read:   
  


** _In the event of an inimical termination of the consensual liaison, the party _ ** _ [Martín Berrote] _ ** _agrees to the following_ ** _ : _

  1. _30 day probationary period, in which the party agrees to abstain from any of the premises owned, in part or in full by **Fonollosa Records**.  
_
  2. The inability to pursue a lawsuit against the **Fonollosa Records** or [Andrés de Fonollosa], except under the circumstances outlined in subsection 2C, page 3.
  3. _In the event an amicable work environment cannot be restored, the party [Martín Berrote] will be eligible for termination after a 90 day probationary period has been completed, under the circumstances outlined in subsection 3A, page 4. _

Instinctively, he flew through the pages separating him from the specifics of what he was being asked. He held his breath, not wanting to see the words trying to seal his fate. Quickly, his eyes glanced down the subsection, sentences blurring together but specific words standing out in bold.   
  


_ Termination Subsection 3A: _

** _In the event an amicable work environment cannot be restored, the party [_ ** _ Martín Berrote _ ** _] will be eligible for termination after a 90 day probationary period has been completed, under the circumstances outlined below. _ **

  * _The terminated established relationship between the parties affects the work performance of one or both of the parties. Evidence must be submitted to support the claim, see more in Addendums 5-7._
  * The party [Martín Berrote] displays public outbursts in the vicinity of **Fonollosa Records**, defined with a 50km radius.
  * The party [Martín Berrote] must limit unsupervised contact with [Andrés de Fonollosa] in public, defined by the same 50km radius.

His hand curled around the top of the page, wanting to rip it out and crumble it into a ball. It shouldn’t have left such a strong sting to read the third statement, having already read through his original contract. _ Of course, _ the logical side of his brain argued, _ there had to be provisionaries to protect the label. _He knew, ultimately, his career was the far more expendable one between them. Still, for all the preparations Andrés had spoken of, he had either conveniently forgotten to mention this one. He took a deep breath through his nose, trying to keep it as quiet as he could. 

It wasn’t enough for Alicia to miss picking up on it, her grin curling on her face. “Is there a problem, Mr. Berrote?” 

He could see Sergio glancing over his shoulder out of the corner of his eye, trying to pick up on the exact reason for the overly pleased tone in Alicia’s voice. He dismissed it, trying to rationalize with the pent up anger inside him. If Andrés hadn’t felt the need to bring it up to him, surely he had to have a reason. There were still things they had let to learn, and jumping to conclusions would only create unnecessary tensions. Still, twirling around the pen in his hand, he wondered how he was meant to sign away the right to his own heartbreak. He _ hoped _ things never got to that point, _ believed _they could work through most things—but breakups could still come no matter how much you cared for someone. If they ended things though, he would have to cut off all emotion, instead of letting it run wild and unpredictable for the sake of his career. 

He couldn’t promise himself or anyone else to be _ on his best behavior_. 

“Mr. Berrote,” Alicia repeated, “Do you have cause for concern you wish to voice, but feel you cannot with present company?” 

“Sergio isn’t the problem,” he snapped, more forceful than intended.

“You don’t have to sign, if you don’t wish to do so. You can always choose the alternative and—,” she paused, walking her fingers across the table toward him, “—walk right back out the door.” She clicked her tongue, mimicking the sounds of a clock. 

His face twisted at her suggestion, ripping the cap off his pen. Her condescending gestures were enough to get under anyone’s skin, and this wasn’t the place to unpack the newest set of rules held over his head. His frustrations laid at Andrés’ feet, but they would discuss matters further in private. Intuition inspired peace, settling in as a strong enough gut feeling as he turned to the signature page. With a flick of his wrist, the disclosures were signed. 

He sighed heavily, a small smile on his face. They were truly official now, in every sense of the word. The relief dimmed his grievances, storing them tucked away in a corner of his mind. There was no sense in speaking of more important matters when they only had a short time before Andrés would be on a plane. 

And creating the potential for their first argument to take place in the hallways of the record studio didn’t seem the best idea, anyway. 

Alicia took the folder back from him, reaching down with her other hand to pick up a large leather briefcase. She slid the packet in with care before buttoning it back up again. “Congratulations, Mr. Berrote. You’re free to go, at least from my charge. Best wishes to you.” 

He fixated on his copy of the disclosures, staring blindingly back at him. His fingers rubbed the corner of his head, trying to coax away the lasting impression of her crooked, smug grin. Whatever hiring pool Andrés pulled from, he undoubtedly needed to start looking somewhere new. 

He turned his head, he pushed back in his chair, blinking furiously when met by Sergio’s brown eyes trying to hide the fact he’d just been observing him. His heart pounded, pupils dilated as he forced himself to catch his breath. “_ Merida! _ I thought you’d left with them. I don’t need a babysitter.” 

“You seemed upset and I wasn’t sure if you’d prefer your space. Alicia can be intense. I should’ve prepared you better.” 

Martín snickered, fingers mindlessly folding the corner of his disclosure packet. “Did she write this all on her own?” 

“There were some recent additions, but it passes through her, our legal team, Andrés, and myself. I personally thought some things were drastic,” Sergio answered, slowly as though a wrong word would tip him off to things that weren’t his to speak of. 

“He warned me about some of the contents,” Martín admitted, still playing with the folder anxiously. 

Sergio glossed over him, nodding as he fixed his glasses. “Can I be honest with you, Martín?” He laughed, nervously at the awkwardness of Serigo’s question, but waved his hand for the younger man to continue. “I had my reservations about my brother pursuing this. It wouldn’t be the first time he got involved with an artist. He has a lot of pain I think he still holds onto.” 

He stiffened as he let a moment before he said anything in return. The boundary between agent and the involved younger brother of his partner blurred unexpectedly, and he wasn’t sure the answer was one he could handle. “Why are you telling me any of this?” 

“He is my brother, and he’s not always the best at pursuing things he truly wants. I’ve seen him around you, and heard him talk about you when you’re not. I’ve never seen him so happy. You just have to be patient with him.” 

His eyes widened as he bit down on his lip. Perhaps risking his career on the chances of their relationship imploding was less of a concern than it was previously. He and Sergio had never spoken of the day he first suspected the other man had picked up on Martín’s feelings. Not only had he been an open book on a table in the studio, Andrés’ own interest was just as easily picked up on. He bowed his chin, lips still pressed together as they spread small. 

“Is it worth putting my other contract up as collateral?” 

“Only you can decide that, Martín. But as your agent, I will lobby on your behalf as much as I can,” Sergio promised. “Or we can always transfer you to one of the others, if you are worried I will be impartial.” 

“No, absolutely not,” he replied adamantly, without even needing to think twice. “I trust you. I owe_ all _of this to you,” he continued, giving Sergio a smug wink. 

“Don’t remind me. I don’t regret it, but there were weeks I was ready to transfer you myself. The ‘hungry eyes’,” he paused, shuddering as he emphasized his point in air quotes, “were intolerable.”   
  
“I don’t make ‘hungry eyes,’ Sergio.” 

“You _ both _did. We could record your cover of the song without getting legal permission because of how bad it got.” 

Martín grinned, laughing with ease. He leaned his back lower, close enough his nose could have bumped against Sergio’s, batting his eyelashes. “They could have been for you. You never can be sure.” 

Sergio took the chance to push his chair from under the table, quickly rising to his feet. He shook his head as the corner of his mouth twitched. “I can assure you, I am positive about this.” 

Martín followed his lead, head thrown back as his mirthful laugh vibrated around the room once again. Outside the conference room, Paula sketched on a large piece of paper, as Andrés typed away on his laptop, occasionally looking away from the screen whenever Paula made a comment about her work. Sergio stepped inside his office, quickly grabbing a few different things from various drawers in his desk. Their meeting with Alicia had ran a little longer than anticipated, which left them little time before they’d risk Andrés missing his flight. 

Still, he hung back closer to the door frame. The conversation they needed to have wasn’t one he wanted to put off. His hands slid in his pockets, closing his eyes for just a moment. Sergio’s assurance helped, but it didn’t persuade all of his fears away. Whatever happened to Andrés in the past, likely with his most recent ex-wife, influenced how they were able to move forward under the disclosures. Her actions and his divorce were leaving Martín with some form of punishment in the aftermath, an unfair adjustment to be asked to make. 

A reluctant hand looped through his, dissuading the negative thoughts from lingering for longer. He opened his eyes to Andrés’ caution smile, laptop bag strung over his shoulder to signal they were ready to leave. He caught the last glimpse of Sergio and Paula walking out of the door, probably headed to the car to give them a moment alone. “You seem upset,” Andrés said, pointedly. 

“Not upset,” he corrected. “There are things we need to talk about, but it can wait.” 

Andrés raised an eyebrow, holding his ground despite their dwindling time. “Can they? Flights can be rescheduled, Martín. If there’s something you’re unhappy about—”

“A few things took me by surprise, yes,” he admitted. “But we’ll discuss them later. I know you don’t want to miss your flight. We agreed to prioritize our careers too.” 

The pad of Andrés thumb circled down the longer vein on the back of his hand, the warm familiar assurance he’d grown accustomed too. He breathed easier as soft lips planted a tender kiss against his cheek, a brief display of affection but one that could have easily been witnessed. There was strong security in the gesture, misplaced doubt chased away for now. “We will speak of this later, yes?” 

He nodded, and it was finally enough for Andrés to move from where his feet had planted in the ground. His nerves settled as they made their way hand in hand to where Sergio waited with the running car. Nothing drastic could happen over one weekend, especially when they would be apart, he told himself. Instead, as he took his seat in the back next to Paula, he relaxed with the comfort of Andrés reaching over the back of his front seat to keep hold of his hand.


	25. The Concert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! Finally had time to focus on this fic! I’ve been busy trying to get this ready to post my newest one, The Other Side. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter. Finally, finally picking up friction. Answers are coming very, very soon 👀. 
> 
> Also, this fic and a few others of mine have been nominated for the Berlermo Awards on tumblr, should any of you feel obliged to vote. It’s been fun writing this for all of you.

Martín sprawled through his sheets, content to ignore the rapping at his front door. It wasn’t obnoxious, just light enough to try and force him from his bed. He wasn’t expecting anyone for a few hours yet, when Matías would be at the front door to drive him to the concert venue for the night. There was nothing worth getting out of bed for earlier than he needed to, not when Andrés was on the other side of the world, probably either about to sleep for the night or already passed out with the time difference. Still, when the person at the door knocked again, he threw his feet over the side of the bed. He threw on the robe hanging on the back of his door, tying it loosely at his waist. With the front door opened, he curiously raised an eyebrow to the delivery man standing with a long black parcel waiting on the other side.  
  
“Paquete para Mr. Berrote,” he started, handing off an electronic signature pad and pen first. He quickly signed his name across the screen, before the box was handed off to him.  
  
The apparel box was tightly secured with a thick black ribbon across the top, and a few pieces of tape securing the edges. It didn’t take much more suggestion for him to already know the origin of the gift, though the contents inside remained an exciting mystery. He slid the ribbon off, fingernail sliding against the tape to break it free. A familiar earthy scent already tickled his nose, only fueling his curiosity and eagerly the top of the box was discarded. A thin lining of tissue paper and a handwritten note greeted him first. The mild smell only got stronger with less layers between them. He picked at the sticker closing the tissue paper, setting the note aside for the moment.  
  
Staring back at him was a perfectly folded, brown leather jacket. Even the first glance of exquisite stitching spoke to the price and quality of the clothing. A horizontal zipper ran a few inches down the left side, while a similarly lengthed one sat on the right side. It felt flexible and soft as he unfolded it from the box, laying it out for a better view on the counter. The smooth touch left him grinning like a fool, carrying a little breath away. He started to tear off his robe, only to decide against it. Such a gift was better savored, waiting for him to take a shower before it was tried on. With a disappointed huff at having to be patient, he picked up the note.  
  
Beautiful cursive adorned the back of the white parchment paper, cut no bigger than a business card, nearly melting him as he read:   
  
_ Martín,  
_

_ I thought you might like this better for tonight. It’s more fashionable than the ones you own, before you think this gives you a free pass. Buena suerte.  
_

_ I’ll be home to you soon.  
_

_ Andrés.   
  
_

As expected, the jacket fit perfectly, almost as though it were custom-made for him. He could only imagine Andrés browsing through different shops, his measurements supplied by their tailor, until he found exactly what he wanted. This was personally bought, not something he sent Mónica on an errand for. It dressed up the pair of dark blue jeans and easy grey collared shirt he’d chosen for the evening, following the guidelines of his contract. As Andrés surmised, though, it felt entirely more _ him _ than the stuffy suits he had grown accustomed to. The gesture was fully realized, and he hadn’t been able to stop smiling all day. He knew it would have been in the works since before his meeting with Alicia, but it helped to further place his mind at ease. Andrés had promised him a two way street, and he was delivering. 

The happy feeling building behind his sternum was just as strong as when Andrés had come to the performance in Berlin. It didn’t overshadow his individual successes, but only helped to propel him forward. As Matías pulled to a stop outside the WiZink Center, Martín watched the tour bus filled with instruments drive around the back. Tatiana’s latest album was painted stunningly on the side of the equipment bus, a matching banner hanging in front of the entranceway. It was different from the first tour, having been able to sleep in his own bed the night before, go through his morning routines, and avoid the inconvenience of getting on a plane. 

But, unlike with Luka, he’d had a rocky start with Tatiana. She’d been headstrong, trying to pry him open and read through all of his secrets. It was unappreciated, but not unexpected in their industry. She had been the label favorite for a long time, and she must have seen enough in his talents to feel threatened. That didn’t mean it needed to stay petty. Healthy rivalries never hurt anyone, and he wasn’t afraid of a little challenge. Luckily, it had been weeks since they’d seen each other last. It was plenty of time for them to begin again, with a potential partnership or even enough to be friendly. Sergio had suggested the possibility of them working together very early on, and he remained opened to the idea. With his best friendly smile, he made his way over to where the stage crew, Tatiana and her band were all unpacking. 

Her flowing white summer dress spoke to her aesthetic, fitting perfectly from what he remembered of her music. She gave him the warmest smile he’d seen from her yet, undeniably radiant and charming in a way she hadn’t been before. Putting down her own guitar case, she reached her hand out to shake his. “Buenas tardes, Martín.” 

“You too,” he replied as he shook her hand. “Thank you for letting me join you today.” 

“If I’d been so lucky to choose you as my opener. Still, I look forward to it. I have to admit, I’ve been playing a few of your songs on repeat this week.” 

“Mine?” 

“Of course! I like to know who I’m working with. You’re excellent.” 

“Wow—thank you.” His pride swelled at the compliments coming from someone as accomplished as her, even if she was several years his junior. Recognition felt good, especially when he admired her work too. 

Unexpectedly, she looped her arm through his as they followed the rest of the crew and her band in through the back entrance. He wasn’t sure if her sudden rush of commadrey should be keeping him on his toes, or if he’d already passed whatever test she deemed necessary. Either way, it wasn’t worth bringing up the past if she wanted to act as though it never happened. “Are you excited for the performance, or do you still get stage jitters?” 

“I think most of us still get a little anxious. There’s always a new thrill with each performance, little changes you can’t predict. It keeps it interesting,” she replied. 

“Never a dull moment?” 

“Not if you keep a positive attitude and find the excitement. I’m sure you liked working with Luka, but I’m happy to take you under my wing too. You’re not going anywhere.”

He raised his eyebrow, looking at her from the corner of his eye. “I never intended to.” 

“Ah,” she paused her step, letting go of his arm. Her face didn’t change, still more relaxed than their previous interactions. But, he could still feel the walls of his defenses circling around him. Baseless accusations never sat well with him, and if she wanted to sour the evening, he wouldn’t get dragged down too. “I think I owe you an apology. There was a lot of subterfuge last year, and it’s tricky to trust new artists. Rio left, you might have too.” 

He nodded, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. He couldn’t fault her for being protective of her own career or the company she had worked for for so long. The prickling intrigue about how far deceipts ran down his neck, torn between acceptance and asking further questions. 

“I appreciate it,” he started after a moment’s silence. “But I’m not foolish enough to pass up the chances given to me.” 

“I should hope not. Andrés is quite taken with you.” 

“I—”

She waved her hand. “He could stand to have a better poker face about you instead of looking lovesick, if he wanted it to be a secret.” The same stupid rush of heat filled his cheeks as it always did, the automatic response when someone spoke of his boyfriend like that. It didn’t go missed, if her giggle was anything to go by. “I can show you the arena? I have a little time before my evening meet and greets.” 

“I’d love to see it. The venue in Berlin was for concerts only but this one isn’t as commonly used for that?” 

“Basketball and boxing, mostly. Still, there’s something I just love about playing in sport’s arenas. You can still feel the energy painted into the walls and it adds to the atmosphere.” 

He followed her up the steps to the stage, currently sat under differing degrees of darkness. There were a few crew members currently up in the banisters, fidgeting with lights and replacing old bulbs. Props and instruments were being moved around, a thick curtain parted for the moment but ready to aid illusions when the time came. As they moved closer to the front of the stage, the seating arrangements for the evening came into view. Temporary seats had been set up on the court, extending behind a little gate that blocked off the stage. To the sides, more rows of permanent seating swept in a u-shape, endless masses of people welcomed into the arena. Even in the bright light, Martín could hear the past echoes of cheers. As promised, the subtle hints of electricity remained, the vibrations of past memories ready to magnify new ones. 

Off to his right, Tatiana spun with her arms opened wide. “You can feel it too. I saw it in your eyes.” 

“You might have a point,” he conceded. 

“Imagine it with the lights down low, everyone screaming your name or chanting when the music pounds through the loudspeakers.” 

If he just closed his eyes long enough, he was certain it would come alive as easily as it did for her. Only a few hours stood between him and getting to experience it for himself, though, and that promise would be enough for now. They made their way back to where the rest of the crew were already waiting, prepared for the first step of the night. Tatiana’s meet and greet would end only an hour before his performance was meant to start, which left everyone else still running around to complete their tasks. In the meantime, he had invited Denver and Mónica for a drink before the show, and the quiet of his dressing room seemed refreshing. 

“I’ll see you in a couple hours?” She asked, as he turned to walk down the opposite end of the hall. 

“Absolutely. Have fun with your photo ops.” 

“We have a little pre-show ritual when you tour with me, so make sure you get to the waiting area at least fifteen minutes before you go on.” 

Relaxing before the show would have been a lot easier if not for the familiar, but completely unexpected, man waiting for him outside his dressing room. Helsinki was propped against the wall, arms lazily crossed over his chest with his eyes closed as he waited. Legs were extended and relaxed at an angle, but from the way he picked at his thumb, Martín felt the little warning signals pick up again. “Helsi?” 

“Martín,” he said, standing up straight and pulling himself away from the wall. “I’m glad I caught you. Can we talk?” 

Looking over both his shoulders, Martín checked each surrounding direction. They were removed enough from the main stage that there was no one around, giving them the privacy he needed to open the door. They hadn’t spoken since the night they’d spent wandering the streets of Berlin, and if not for the unannounced visit he might have been glad to see him. He shut the door behind him, inviting Helsi to take the seat on the sofa while he sat on one of the chairs. 

“What’s this about?” 

Helsinki ran his hand down his face, releasing the tension. “Tokio’s been insistent on trying to get you over to her label. I’ve had just about enough listening to it.” 

Martín turned around in his chair, reaching for one of the provided bottles of water. His hand twisted off the cap, contemplating what all that meant. He’d shut the woman down once, hoping it would be the end of her attempts to contact him. The man in front of him had been far more honest and he still couldn’t understand why he’d settle for working for a viper. “Why now? It’s been months.” 

“She knew Andrés wouldn’t be around to persuade you, or some other bullshit. It’s all stupid rivalries.”

“Wouldn’t it be better for you to play along with her demands?” He asked, taking a sip of his water. “Instead of warning me?” 

“Would you prefer I wasted my time or yours?” 

Martín smiled, gratefully, at the blunt honesty of his answer. “No. But you’ve been nice to me and I’d prefer you not suffer under a bad boss.” 

Helsinki shrugged. “I’m probably on my way out anyway. She doesn’t like my ‘tactics’.” 

“I can imagine,” he nodded. “I hope you didn’t buy a ticket just to come tell me this, though. You could have called.” 

“No, I didn’t. They were a gift for my boyfriend, he’s a huge fan of Tatiana’s. He’s in line right now for the meet and greet so I snuck away.” 

The buzz of his phone in his pocket interrupted their conversation, even with how quickly Martín moved to silence it. Denver and Mónica would no doubt be letting him know they’d just arrived, looking for which room he’d been assigned backstage. The call didn’t go unnoticed by Helsinki, who was already moving to get back to his feet. Martín pointed to the bottle of wine on the vanity, “You don’t have to leave. My friends are headed for a pre-show drink, if you’d care to join us.” 

“I’d never turn down a good glass of chardonnay.” 

Martín moved to open the door, waving to Mónica and Denver just down the hallway. Celebrations with his friends to help any of the nervousness bouncing around inside of him should be his focus. He simply didn’t have time to digest the warning about Tokio coming to see him. After all, the worry was unwarranted. He had nothing to say to her, and anything she might offer him paled in comparison to what he already had. Try as she might to make him a pawn, he could just shut the door in her face or walk away. That night at the gala he’d had proven himself to Andrés and she should have been smart enough to take no for an answer then. 

The top popping off the bottle of wine, glasses passed amongst the four of them, and the fizzle of the liquid called his focus. Each face in the room was toasting to his successes and wishing him the best of luck for the night. With the first sip, the buzz of alcohol and moderately bitter taste of vanilla and lemons whisked away anything else existing. The bottle of courage helped to further settle his nerves, reminding him he had already experienced the rush of the first time. 

Time quickly came for him to walk down the busy hallway leading to the stage. The crew worked tirelessly, alive and alert as orders were given and followed out. A pair followed him, attaching the mic to his ear and giving him prompts to follow for the start of the show. He nodded along, trying to quickly memorize each of the instructions handed to him. The amount of notes to consume in just a few minutes was daunting, but he knew they’d correct him if needed. All he had to do was wait for Saurez, who would be standing on the other side of the curtain, to nudge him along to center stage. 

Unlike before, the silence of the arena was filled with music playing over the stereo, and thousands of conversations while patrons eagerly waited for the show to begin. Butterflies gathered in his stomach, more from elation than anxiety. Tatiana and her band were waiting for him, just a few feet away from the steps leading up the stage. They were huddled together, arms thrown over each other as they carried on their loud laughter with bright grins on their face. 

“Make room,” Tatiana instructed when she saw him, and a place was parted for him to stand. “We have a few more minutes before Martín will be opening for us tonight, and a huge crowd waiting for us! We are sold out tonight!” 

“Sold out?" 

“Don’t be nervous,” the younger man to his left said before Tatiana could. “You’ll get lost up there and won’t even notice.” 

“And I had some ask about you,” Tatiana added, lightly poking his chest. “They’re ready for you!” 

That quieted his racing heart again, and he let out an easy breath. _ In and out. In and out _, he reminded himself. Tatiana’s huddle resumed their jokes, punchlines missed as he continued to prep himself. Like the lights hanging above the stage, they were all connected this evening. If one of them shone weaker than the rest, the mood in their audience would shift with it. They trusted him, as he trusted them, to provide an unforgettable evening. The leather jacket, still wrapped tightly around him, was the final comfort he needed to square his shoulders. 

“A little cheer, on the count of three,” Tatiana said, happily. “For us, for our audience. Let’s go out and give it our all!” 

Their childish tradition reminded him of days spent on the fields playing football, the same easiness carried with it. They were lucky to be able to make careers from their passions. It should be fun for all involved. His own hearty laugh mixed in with the rest as they fell into rhythm with their chants. When he pulled away, it was time for him to take the steps leading up to stage. Tatiana and her band mates waved him off as his guitar was handed to him by one of the techs. He slid the strap over his chest, watching as the lights dimmed for the audience. Silence fell amongst the crowds, as the already recorded music started to help amplify his guitar. 

_ Overtired, overworked, underpaid, under pressure  
_ _Always tying up loose ends  
_ _The unchained melody out of tune, remedy for the weekend  
_ _To cure the weekday blues_

The older song was still one of his favorites, the chords bringing the audience alive with them. The lights were designed to flow over the crowd, and avoid blinding him. Most had risen from their seats, dancing with the friends they had brought with them. His eyes kept wandering over the masses, never sure where to look for long as he walked across the stage. 

_ Raise my heart rate, inflate my pupils, give me something  
_ _Just to smoothen off the edge  
_ _Call me dumb, call me scum, call me plain and simple  
_ _As I'm holding on for this_

He extended his arm, holding out the microphone to encourage them singing along. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, the wide smile split across his face. These were the moments, proving he had made it. This new feeling was a level of indescribable joy. His heart was light, anything else lifted off his shoulders, leaving his body floating on air as the song continued. 

Something bittersweet carried his exhaustion as the night rolled on, his final song coming and going before he was ready for it. As he walked away from the stage, the crowd still chanted his name in unison. His heart soared, fingers itching to strum over the strings of his guitar. Longingly, his eyes searched the face of the nearest stage tech. He nearly jumped, ready to run back out when the nod of approval was granted. His first standing ovation. 

_ So, don't you fall back asleep for this moment  
_ _Just be, I wanna get it right for once  
_ _Oh, I've been knocked out and beat but this feeling is fleeting_  
_What have I done?  
_ _What have I done?_

There was a magnetic current between him and the crowd, with the way the lyrics hit with something far more personal. Relatable lyrics produced the best results, as he’d always been told. Judging by the sea of phones extended back towards him, glittering like a sea of stars. 

The last of his hard earned applause floated with him back to his dressing room. He could feel the pulse of pride down to his soul, the happiness of his achievement addictive. He craved _ his _success like the hit off a warm cigar, for further opportunities, the rush of the high. This was everything he had ever wanted. And when dark eyes flashed over his memory, the floral scent as strong as it was when wrapped around him, he knew he had a bonus prize all for himself. 

If only the feeling were permitted to last. Tokio stood waiting for him outside his door just as Yashin had before her. He imagined the outfit alone—tight leather jeans, talled heel boots, and crop top—would have worked on anyone else. Dominating. Threatening. Her uniform was yet another display of power. She looked nothing more than the shark he already knew she was. 

“Tokio,” animosity carrying her name from his mouth. 

“Yashin told you I was coming, didn’t he? So much for the element of surprise,” she pouted with false pretense, hand curling around the flat side of the door to push it opened more. “Doesn’t mean we still can’t talk, Martín.” 

“I have nothing to say to you, so _ yes _ it does.” He didn’t budge, standing in the door frame to keep from letting her inside the room. 

But by the look on the woman’s face alone, he knew _ no _ would not be taken for an answer. It was dangerous inviting something so poisonous inside, but it was better than having the conversation through his cracked door. The last thing he needed was for anyone to hear anything out of context, and for it to get back to Sergio or Andrés before he could tell them himself. At least if he tried to assert control, the damage could be maintained. “Five minutes. I’ll give you five minutes.” 

“I could do it in three,” she answered, finally moving past him into the small room. As she took her seat, she added, bordering on cheerful, “The more time you give me, the more I think you want to hear me out.” 

“You’re wasting time on your _ pitch.” _

“No, I suppose you’re right. I don’t have his pretty face to sell me on.” 

She opened the divider she carried with her, carefully turning each page. His hand twitched at his side, uncomfortable at the unprofessionally, giddy way her eyes lit up when she found what she was looking for. The rectangle paper was twisted out towards him, the hazy paparazzi photo still clear enough to paint the way he and Andrés had sat a little too close in public that first morning after, at Paula’s football match. Still, it shouldn’t have meant anything really. 

“And your point is? I thought this was about a recording contract, not what we do in our free time,” Martín snapped, more forceful than he intended. It was all too natural though, watching her come after him for what it would do to Andrés over his talent. His career was important, and the evening had filled him with renewed euphoria. He was more than his relationship with the man he had fallen for. The best deals had already come from Sergio, and he’d meant it when he asked her to leave. But the protective beats of his heart spoke to the man who held all of his affection, even if he didn’t fully know it yet. Her unspoken accusations were the only reason he didn’t throw her from the room, then and there. 

“You don’t need to be so defensive. It’s sweet, the two of you.” 

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, but hurry up,” Martín replied, pushing back the sleeve of his leather jacket to look at his watch. He didn’t have to stand here and take the petty little jabs at his relationship, and he wasn’t about to. “Your time is half up.” 

“Aren’t you worried everyone will see _ why _you’re the new favorite? It won’t be because of your talents. It’s all about him.” 

It was a weak argument to pick. There might have been some concerns about that a few weeks ago, but the electricity had wrapped around him as the crowds cheered his name. Even after his first performance when he was far less known, his talents had carried him. The dumpy bar he loved to play at had grabbed Sergio’s attention, and his agent was doing everything he could to promote his career. Regardless of what anyone else thought about them, he knew he had worked hard enough to stand on his own. Standing in this room, listening to Tokio’s pitiful attempt to drive a wedge between him and Andrés would only continue to make the vein in his head pop. 

“I beg to differ, or did you get to the show late? It’s really too bad you missed hearing me play. I’m a rising star after all.” 

The smile on her face would have cut someone weaker to their core. He only stood taller in this ridiculous eye of the storm she was determined to brew. Giving her a nod, he encouraged her to continue. The sooner this was over, the better it would be for him. 

“Don’t you think it would be easier to have him and your career if you weren’t tied to his label?” Her eyes gleamed, as though she already knew the only answer he could give. And she probably did. Of course it would be _ easier _ , or at least very different, if they had met under different circumstances. But games of _ what if _ were dangerous, planted triggers waiting for the right shift of weight to set them off. He wouldn’t go down this road with her. 

Finally, he laughed mockingly. “You act as though I’m stupid enough not to know it would be over the moment I signed your paperwork.” 

Her smirk curled, not breaking their eye contact. “That’s not really loving _ you _ then, is it? It’s loving what you _ do _ for him, for _ his _ label, for _ his _career. You should ask his ex-wife how that worked out for her.” 

“I’m not her. It’s not the same thing,” he rolled his eyes, arms folded over his chest. The situation wasn’t going anywhere, and she was enjoying it too much to leave. Whatever she had to gain, he wanted no part in it. 

“Are you sure? How much do you really know, Martín? He was always very secretive when I worked for him. I can’t imagine he told you anything, just had you sign all his contracts.” She tapped the black folder, picking at the pen poking out from the top. “It’s at least worth hearing what I have to say.” 

“I’m not taking advice from you on the matter. Besides, you’ve wasted all your time looking for cracks where there are none. This isn’t about me, it’s about your rivalry.” 

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Pretty and smart. I do applaud Andrés for that. But I do think you could be an asset for my label.” 

“And I’m not interested in your offer. You’re not very good at taking no for an answer.” 

“You’re right, I’m not,” she agreed, still not moving from the seat she’d taken in his dressing room. “It’s not the first time I’ve stepped over boundaries in our little competition. But I do like you, Martín. You’re talented, and when this _ fling _of yours is over, my offer still stands. Can you say the same about him?” 

Martín threw the door open, before he tapped the watch on his wrist. “Are you finished? Or would you rather security escort you out? Either option is fine by me.”

He hadn’t noticed the clench in his jaw until she rose from her seat. There was no denying the satisfaction in her eyes, or the way she sauntered to stand in front of him. It had been the wrong answer, and he knew it. Not that denying it adamantly would have gotten him anywhere better. He couldn’t commit himself to Andrés’ defense about this when they hadn’t talked about it. Her hints had been enough to confirm things he’d already grown to suspect, and unwittingly he’d allowed her to tap into it. Even without signing, or so much as looking at her contract, he’d already given her a little victory. 

“That won’t be necessary. But think about it.” 

It was hard, letting her have the last word. But he knew better than to continue screaming down the hall about all the reasons why she was wrong. The little hints she’d dropped only served to connect some of the dots between the things he suspected. Tonight had proven he was more than Andrés’ boyfriend, or the budding musician high off the buzz of a captivating muse. His own talent, his own work, was the reason he had made it this far. No one could diminish that. He wouldn’t let them. This was the life he had envisioned for himself so many years ago, when it was all he could to relate to his father. He had never given music up, not through all the other shortcomings. 

With a huff, he fell down on the sofa. His phone sat on the table next to it, and he briefly considered calling Andrés right then. It was still midday on the other side of the Atlantic, though, and he could safely assume he’d be wrapped up in meetings. He shouldn’t need the reassuring voice to tell him he was right anyway. He was valued by his merit here, he knew that. And mentioning Tokio’s offer, when he’d never even considered it, was worth any damage it might cause. Heavy eyelids and a stifled yawn only further discouraged making the call. Instead, he crossed his ankles as he stretched out, arms tucked behind his head, opting to doze while Denver and Mónica enjoyed the rest of Tatina’s show. 


	26. America

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An improved version of the chapter I previously posted, with some modifications to the plot. 
> 
> I tried to keep it shorter since it was such a plot-focused chapter. We shall be back to Berlermo content very soon. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. 
> 
> First of all, I would like to apologize for the four-month hiatus. To start, I was going through some difficult things in my life and this affected my writing and my mental health. My happiness has improved so much since starting grad school and moving to the UK; I feel prepared to finish this fic now. I am a much happier version of myself and have more confidence in my ability to write the ending to this story. 2020! Who would’ve guessed it would be such a monster. 
> 
> Second, I would like to thank everyone who will return to finish reading the final chapters. Right now, I'm uncertain if there will be 30 or 31. It will depend on how writing the upcoming ones go. I know this is a fluffier version of Berlermo, who have been altered slightly from canon to fit into an alternative-universe setting. It is such an honor you all love this story as much as you love canon-verse fics I've written. The Other Side (mine and Cassy's Mint rewrite) and my one-shots are always flooded with so much love and support. I couldn't be half the author I strive to be without all of you. You truly are the fuel to my fire with all the kudos and compliments. I can never overstate just how much you mean to me. 
> 
> Third, I hope you all continue to enjoy this and future projects! I have actually started drafting two new AUs: one which will be another rom-com trope fic, and another with more mature themes. 
> 
> Without further ado, I present to you the updated chapter 26.

Los Angeles was always painfully warm in the summer. His skin itched the moment he stepped outside, and even sitting in the back of the car with the air trying to cool him down, little helped. Taking off the pressed jacket was out of the question, though the white button-up underneath would do little to help either. Normally, he found positives about the yearly trips to meet with his American stakeholders. The beaches were always full, but Catalina Island always made for a relaxing break from the office. A game of golf with Tamayo was always countered with a visit to his favorite Indian restaurant, a little hole in the wall a few blocks off the Main Street in Hollywood. Listening to Prieto’s dull voice firing off countless statistics while he slowly built towards acquisition questions were coupled with visits to his beloved vineyard. This time, no promise of entertainment meant anything to him. Andrés’ mind was thousands of miles away, playing the conversation with Martín over and over again.  
  
He tried to push the meeting in America back, but the impending July holiday and summer concert schedule left him with no other options. The best he could do was plan a little surprise for Martín for the morning of his next performance, but Andrés knew he should have been there. The disclosure meeting with Alicia left discomfort and questions written on Martín’s face, but they had agreed on prioritizing their careers. That left him with no other option than driving to the airport, his hand refusing to let go of his boyfriend’s for the duration of the drive, and a quick kiss before he departed for the terminals.  
  
The same cracks chipped at yet another new relationship, just as he insisted he wouldn’t allow. Honest communication was never his strongest characteristic, though not for lack of trying. The disclosure was nothing more than a technicality to him. His company required it, and it was something he needed to avoid repeating old mistakes. It was only a formality. But the sudden distance between them was cold. The little pebble threatened to become a bigger issue when he only wanted to move past it. From the little they discussed it, Martín should’ve recognized the need for the disclosure was about protecting the label. If he’d tried harder to communicate that with Martín the only time they talked about it, the slivers of something akin to betrayal wouldn’t have been eating at his boyfriend’s thoughts.  
  
But maybe, that came down to Andrés’ true fault. He could sit and spin around in circles all day, trying to tell himself he was only protecting the business. That was part of it, of course. Although he did not want to admit it to himself, he knew the contract was also about protecting himself. He projected the disasters of his last marriage onto his new relationship with Martín. He twisted the handle of his briefcase, watching as buildings passed on the other side of the car window. Against Raquel and Sergio’s advice, he refused to bring up much of his romantic past. It had never mattered before. Each new wife wasn’t granted the story of the one before; each of those had subsequently ended in their own speedy ending. Sharing the stories of his past wasn’t a chapter he wanted just anyone to read. His vulnerability was written between their pages and their frayed edges reflected the way they were used against him before. Allowing someone new access made his chest constrict and fear ripple down his skin. Even for all the trust, he had in Martín, he hadn’t been ready to discuss what happened in the last year. He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. They were never going to be able to move forward if he wasn’t honest, but he didn’t want to be. The past was his mistakes, the future was Martín. Why couldn’t it be as simple as that?  
  
The car came to a stop and the driver moved to open the door for him. With his briefcase in hand, he squared his shoulders and made himself focus once more. There was nothing he could do about his relationship from an ocean away. Now, he needed to fixate his energy on the company. A phone call to Martín would be his next priority later in the day.  
  
The empty foyer allowed the decorative water fixtures to fill his ears, the serene sound helping to craft his business persona. Tamayo’s new secretary smiled at him as he walked through the door, clearing her desk quickly to make the office space look more presentable. The few personal touches made his lip turn up: the American differences never failed to miss his eye. This girl was different from the last two years ago. The little bouquet and practical pieces greeting visitors impressed a serene feeling coupled with the white noise played from her computer. The improved embroidery on her navy blue Marc Jacobs dress and loose bun of curls also made her stand apart as someone more professional. The secretary two years ago had mismatched his suit and left Andrés ready to run for the door.  
  
“Good morning,” he said as he reached the table.  
  
“Good morning,” and the thick French accent confirmed his suspicions she wasn’t a local, “Se ñor de Fonollosa. Mr. Tamayo and Mr. Prieto will only be a few moments. Can I interest you in any coffee or tea while you wait?”  
  
“Tea will be fine, thank you. And if I may, you’ve done wonders adding to that dress. My sister-in-law has the same one, and the plain design doesn’t compare.”  
  
With a new smile gracing the young woman’s face, she showed him to the waiting area. Before he could take a seat on one of the plush waiting room chairs, the sound of heels clicking on the tile floor made him turn his head. His eyes narrowed, fist clutched at his side when his glance unexpectedly met the thin smirk pepping Tokio’s face. Rather than follow in his steps to the front desk, she made her way to the chair next to the one he stood by, sitting down without a word. If she wanted him to speak first, she had another thing coming. Instead, he took his seat and looked through the black book tucked in the inner pocket of his suit jacket. The searing feeling of her eyes on him didn’t fade away with the distraction, as though it could burn a hole straight through the fixated spot on his temple.   
  
Finally, he settled on, “If you keep looking at me like that, your face is going to wrinkle.”  
  
“Well, you’d know all about that. It would just be one more lesson I took from you, though I’d have much more grace in aging.”  
  
He flipped another page in his book, seeing the numbers and notes for his portion of the presentation though nothing registered in his brain. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to ignore the knot forming between his shoulders. Whatever she was still doing here shouldn’t be any concern of his. When Tamayo scheduled his appointment, Andrés ensured there wouldn’t be any chances of their dates overlapping. Clearly, no one was capable of integrity. By blindsiding him but leaving him to wait in the foyer, he at least had an opportunity to begin building his new strategy. However, this new negotiation tactic might be Tamayo’s last Andrés would allow.  
  
“How’s Martín? I saw his name on the upcoming tour schedule for Tatiana. The hot new talent for _ Fonollosa Records_, though his style fits more with the American charts.”  
  
“I’ll remind you once it is no business of yours,” he replied, snapping the book shut. “If I taught you anything, it should have been to keep a better eye on your operations than everything else around you.”  
  
“My label is in pristine order, thank you for your concern. But he _could _become a concern of mine. Yashin is quite fond of him and needs to pull a few names. With the right persuasion,” she hummed, her eyes shining with mischief. She could try all she wanted to worm her way under his skin but it wouldn’t work. He refused to let her get a rise out of him.  
  
“Do you enjoy being turned down? I enjoyed the first attempt, but any others would just be repetitive and dull. I’d expect better from anyone who studied under my tutelage.” Andrés’ sat taller at her snarl, pleased with the evidence the simple remark was enough to start digging back at her. Tokio’s heightened self-importance was always her biggest flaw and he would exploit that if she kept trying to sink her claws into information about Martín.  
  
“You give yourself too much credit.”  
  
“Do I, now? You followed every single one of my steps, stole resources from my company, and painted yourself as an ally to my corporate partners. Either you failed to do your own research or wanted to mirror my business model.” He twisted his head just enough to see her from the corner of his eye. Her fingernails dug into the plush arm of the chair, crouching in the corner furthest away from him.  
  
“And you keep running around dating artists expecting anything to change. Your ambition always overpowers your partner’s and then they wisen up.”  
  
His stomach twisted, baring his teeth like a dog preparing to strike. Before he could, the secretary’s presence mixed with the tension building in the air. “Señor de Fonollosa, Señora Oliveira. I apologize for the delay. If you would like to follow me now, the conference room is ready and they are waiting for both of you.”  
  
The two executive’s chatter was brought to an end as their secretary pushed the door open, directing Andrés and Tokio inside. The table was set up with the four of them in the center, packets of paper, pens, and their respective drink orders waiting in front of their places. The screen on the far wall was already pulled down, but not turned on yet. As they approached the table, Tamayo only leaned back in his chair while Prieto rose from his. He extended his hand to both, and Andrés took satisfaction that his hand was still taken first. Whatever damage Tokio did in the year between his last visit and the current one, at least the man still had enough basic loyalty to assert Andrés’ seniority.  
  
“I apologize for bringing you both here, unexpectedly. I know your history is...complicated,” Tamayo started, locking his chair into an upright position. The faux professional grin plastered on his face told Andrés more than words ever could, even if Tokio had been unable to keep her mouth shut in the foyer.  
  
“I understand unexpected events happen,” Andrés replied, politely. “I can only imagine how _ ethical _ dilemmas keep you especially preoccupied.”  
“We have a proposition for both of you and given the nature of your relationship, we decided it was best to arrange a meeting without prior agreement,” Prieto added.  
  
The vein in Andrés’ temple pulsed, constricting at his words. Tamayo’s eyes fell, refusing to look across the table and next to him, Tokio’s arrogance surged once more. It was one thing to bring him here under false circumstances, particularly when they breached prior agreements. It was another if they thought he would sit and be lied to. “You should have collaborated your stories better. Dear Tokio here forgot to keep the secret to herself and indulged me while we were in the foyer.”  
  
Tamayo’s brow twitched and his jaw clenched as he tried to smile again. Andrés waved his hand, allowing everyone else around him to slowly lose their composure. He wouldn’t be so easily unmade. “If we believed you would meet with us under these terms, you would have been included.”  
  
“We’ve worked well together for a decade, Tamayo. Don’t forget my supply of foreign artists made you a competitor in the States. You shouldn’t make assumptions of my intent to continue our relationship.”  
  
“Be that as it may, what is done is done.” The man reached for his bottle of water, splashes dripping on the sides of his hand. For the moment, the upper hand belonged to Andrés. It wasn’t enough to lure him into a sense of false security, though he suspected they hoped it would. He picked up one of the pens, twisting it from side to side, biding his time. “We have a new proposition for both of you.”  
  
Prieto turned on the monitor in front of him, the screen lighting up. His computer screen connected to the display, the presentation pulled up and ready to begin. “As you will see, we have a merger to propose. We aim to diversify our company into a second label. In order to do so, we are requesting our partners move a selection of their current clients while maintaining some royalties related to the contracts.”  
  
“We have researched your recent portfolios and have arguments prepared for who we believe best fit our label. However, for this to work, we need you to agree to work together. An additional meeting would be scheduled every year for our three labels to review the progress of current artists,” Tamayo continued.  
  
“I believe mutual trust is required for a successful partnership. You didn’t opt for secure foundations already,” Andrés reminded. The new partnership was simple, agreeable even. He had never once been unreasonable, which means only one thing. Whatever reason they found for excluding him from meeting under the correct circumstances hadn’t been revealed yet. He’d bide his time, spotting all their flaws and weakening any arguments for his compliance along the way.  
  
“I _ asked _for anonymity,” Tokio added, and the softness to her voice only pushed Andrés further off edge. “I apologize, Fonollosa. I couldn’t have imagined you would want to meet with me, but I believe this will benefit both of our labels. There are some artists who will top the American charts better than they can in Spain.”  
  
_ Martín_. However she’d convinced them to listen to her pitches without his consultation escaped him, but it didn’t take much to read between the lines. He’d sent one other up-and-coming artist to American under the same circumstances, almost five years ago. She flourished in the new location and only relocated to Spain a few months ago to carry over her new international fanbase. The decision had been for the best, though Tokio never agreed with her first client being moved. Andrés dismissed her annoyance too easily, but thinking back now, every disagreement sparked after that decision. He didn’t need to review the proposal to know Martín’s name would appear on its pages. That wouldn’t be allowed.  
  
“Would you excuse Tokio and I to discuss the potential for working together again?” He asked, between gritted teeth. Tamayo nodded, finally doing the respectable thing and rising from his chair. He shook Andrés’ hand, uttering something Andrés’ ears didn’t care to catch. Prieto trailed behind and once the door clicked shut, he turned on his former partner. “I should give you applause for your little act.”  
  
“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about, Andrés. You’ll have to be more specific,” she purred, leaning forward on her palm. “It’s not unheard of for these relationships to exist.”  
  
“You’ve been holding on to the same thing for years. Are you expecting an apology for me sending Ágata here? Grow up.”  
  
Tokio’s fingers drummed against her chin as her head shook from side to side. “I realize now it was for her best and you were capable of seeing that.” She walked her free hand across the table, patronizingly patting him on the hand. He ripped it away, ready to stab the pen clutched in his hand painfully into hers. “I’m only returning the favor.”  
  
“Martín is growing in Europe without needing the move to America. Ágata’s career grew stagnant after the first trimester. I fear your personal attachments blinded you to reading statistics then and misremembering the past now.”  
  
“His music is better suited to this audience. You won’t even present the opportunity to him?”  
  
Andrés’ eyes narrowed as his throat constricted. Sharp breaths through his nose kept his composure but it was slowly slipping through his fingers. As much as he hated it, Andrés knew she had one point in her favor. Whenever a move needed to take place or could be considered, the artist was made aware early in the process. Their opinion was taken into account as decisions were being made, allowing them to make the best career choices for their future. Failing to present the same option to Martín meant breaking their agreement both of their careers would matter. Their relationship was too new to test with the long-distance and time differences wrenched between them.  
  
“He is _my_client and I know what is best for his career.”  
  
“How disappointing. I proposed Yashin and Miguel, two of my finest agents, since your brother wouldn’t be able to make the move. But you refuse to consider giving up someone promising in return. How does a partnership thrive in those unequal conditions?”  
  
His smile twitched, and she at least had the good sense to shy from the building storm. “You forget I have other offers from American labels who will not put me into this position. I’m not the one who needs this arrangement to continue my success. That burden falls on you, Prieto, and Tamayo.”  
  
“We can ignore your _business _reputation crumbling for being difficult to work with. You really only care about your own success, just like you always have. How long until your little boyfriend picks up on the fact you’re fixated on your own needs?”  
  
“Careful, Tokio. You don’t know me as well as you’d think.”  
  
“You did the same with Maria and now she is much happier with my label. Your marriage is over. Do you really think you can continue the same pattern of dating artists, allowing your _ ego _ and your demands to come first, but expect different outcomes?”  
  
Andrés growled, the crafted professional persona finally cracking in half at her words. Nothing maintained the need to sit here and listen to what she had to say. Nothing required him to listen to the presentation, even with the length of his old business relationship. Sergio would argue with him later about storming out of a room and ripping up the goodwill with Prieto and Tamayo, but he still had another week in America. There was time for him to extinguish the smoke from this blazing fire and bring home new ventures.  
  
“I’ll thank you to keep your affairs in order before you attack mine again,” he finished, leaving the room without another word. He ignored the way Tamayo called after him from the hall, one foot in front of the other as he made his way back outside. His driver jumped to his feet, crushing the cigarette quickly under the toe of his shoe. For now, it would be back to the hotel where his festering frustration could be released. The phone in his pocket burned his leg, the desire to call Martín despite the fact he’d probably wake his boyfriend was overwhelming now.  
  
But how could he? Under it all, Tokio had a point. Admitting the fact to himself made his stomach curdle, his head knocking against the back of his seat. He’d decided without allowing Martín to consider his options. Andrés had forced the relationship disclosure on him in the same fashion, expecting Martín to take on the weight of his mistrust and insecurities. His hands clawed at the knot of his tie, unfastening it to ease his ability to breathe. Frustration pounded in his blood, regret quickly following. No, calling Martín now wasn’t an option. They’d need to speak in person and that would simply have to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For timeline purposes, Tokio gets back to Spain the morning of Martín’s concert while Andrés is still in the States.


End file.
